To the Sea
by aka-elsie-snuffin
Summary: He really should have seen this coming. Tony/Ziva (Tiva, if you must) go on an adventure and find what they need to move on. Kind of canon through Dead Letter but AU after.
1. Chapter 1

AN: Just a little something now that Tony DiNozzo's last two episodes are coming up and previews are coming in. This is how I want it to go down. Also, I still haven't watched past when Ziva left, so if I fudge a few details about this case they're on and everything else, that's why. I kept up with episode summaries and spoilers, so some of it might sound familiar but don't expect it to be entirely canon. Especially since I'm not likely to finish this before MW's last episode airs.

Title is from a song by Seafret.

* * *

 _When I follow my heart_

 _It leads me to you._

 _Do you think of me when you look to the sea?_

* * *

One.

He really should have seen this coming.

He has been a federal agent for longer than junior high schoolers have been alive, and he has dealt with more terrorists, foreign and domestic, than he can count. Add to that the fact that Ziva David was a Mossad operative for years - more than that, she was part of the Kidon unit. Which meant she was an assassin. Although she rarely talked about her missions, he knew she was involved in some pretty crazy things.

So it should be no surprise that she had been involved in god-knows-what that has led a rogue MI6 agent to come after her now. Forget the fact that she hasn't been Mossad in years - he should have seen this coming from miles away.

Gibbs is interrogating a man who had been found snooping around Ziva's old apartment complex. The old lady, Gladys Miller, who had lived next door to Ziva for years was fond of Tony, despite his penchant for knocking on Ziva's door at all hours of the night. When Ziva had left for good, he had gone to the Gladys and had her promise to call him if she saw anything funny going on. He had done that partly because he felt he owed Gladys for some reason and partly because this was the only way he could think at the time to watch Ziva's six now that she was out of his life.

So Gladys, naturally suspicious of strangers lurking around, had called Tony, saying that a strange man had been hanging around for the last few days and had knocked on her door, asking about her former neighbor. Gladys, bless her heart, told the man she had no idea where her former neighbor had gone or when she left.

They are all on edge with Jacob Scott running around, killing former and current agents who had any sort of involvement in his past. Fornell is in the ICU, former director Tom Morrow dead. When Gladys called him out of the blue, his proverbial hackles had been raised and he and Gibbs had immediately driven out to the apartment complex that had once been so familiar to him.

They had quickly apprehended the nameless stranger, almost too easily. This led them to believe that he knew that Ziva no longer lived there but didn't know where she had gone. Once the man was in custody, Tony had knocked on Gladys' door to thank her and let her know that they caught the man. The wizened old woman had hugged him - Tony always had a way with the older ladies - and said, "You probably want to warn Ziva."

No kidding.

As Gibbs works on breaking the lurker, Tony, McGee, and Bishop watch from the observation room. Tony's brain is working overtime, formulating a plan to do exactly what Gladys had said. The main problem is that Tony has not seen Ziva in almost three years - not since he had walked away from her on that damned runway in Tel Aviv. Their communications were scant - he received yearly birthday and Christmas cards along with the occasional postcard. She never put a return address on the envelope - she even put the postcards in envelopes, like she didn't want anyone to know what she wrote to him. In return, since he had no idea where she was, he would send her instant messages, not knowing if she was even checking them. Maybe in her post-badge life, she never went on a computer. He just had no way to know.

So the plan - find Ziva, or rather, have the tech triumvirate of Abby, McGee, and Bishop find Ziva. Then Tony will go and warn her. It takes him way too long to come up with this two step plan and he considers that he might be panicking a little. What if the resident technology brain trust is unable to find her, or it's too late and she is lying lifeless somewhere? He tells himself to take it one step at a time, but he shifts back and forth like an antsy tennis player. At one point, he catches the other two look at him, then exchange a look, but they don't comment.

Gibbs intimidates the stranger, yelling at him suddenly, threatening him, smacking his hand down on the table. Only the most hardened criminals are immune to the Gibbs technique and this clown is not the toughest nut to crack. He gives his name - Joe Callahan - and says that he was tasked to find some woman named Ziva David. He had tracked her from Israel to DC, but then her trail had gone cold. He doesn't know who had hired him - of course - and he doesn't know why someone is looking for her. He is conveniently lacking in knowledge, meaning he really doesn't know anything or he is a really good actor.

"It could go either way. He seems like an idiot - I mean, knocking on old neighbors' doors? But Scott hasn't been exactly surrounding himself with morons. He might be a subcontractor who just happens to be a weak link, or he knows more than he's letting on," Bishop says, echoing Tony's thoughts. He and McGee nod in response.

They hear Gibbs growl one last time then get up and storm out of the interview room. The three agents rush to meet him in the hallway. "The bumbling, innocent private investigator is an act," he says shortly, confirming what they'd already worked out. Like a well oiled unit, they all head back to the bullpen.

"We need to warn Ziva," Tony says quickly, unable to sit at his desk like the younger agents. "If we can track her down, I can get her and we can bring her in to protective custody until we get Scott."

McGee looks at him. "Ziva? Protective custody? You think she's going to go for that?"

A flaw in his plan, yes, but Tony figures he will work something out to convince her. "She said she was going to let go of the badge, so maybe she's not a ninja anymore," he replies with a shrug.

McGee looks skeptical and Tony doesn't blame him. Once a ninja, always a ninja. But Tony isn't going to be able to rest until he knows she is safe, and he'll only know that if he is with her. "We need to find her first," he reminds the tech whiz.

"No need." Gibbs scribbles something on a piece of paper and hands it to Tony.

Tony squints to decipher Gibbs' handwriting. "Tel Aviv?"

"It's her address," Gibbs explains simply. The others gawk at him and he shrugs. "She gave me her address so we can reach her if something happened. Like this." Tony continues staring at him.

Tony blinks, processing this new bit of information. Gibbs knew where she was all this time? Why didn't Ziva tell him? They were partners for eight years, after all. Should he be hurt? He feels like he should be hurt. But it's Gibbs - it makes total sense that she would trust him with her address.

Gibbs sees him rooted to the ground and barks,"DiNozzo! Go home and pack. McGee will have your flight to Tel Aviv set for you by the time you get to the airport. Unless I need to send McGee instead."

That threat wakes him up. "Yes, boss," he says. He grabs his gear and dashes for the elevator.

In the elevator, he tries not to think about how in a few hours, he will be face to face with Ziva for the first time in more than two years. He pushes the wave of emotions aside, focusing on the task at hand. Go home, pack, go to airport, get on plane. Then he'll let himself think about it.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I have a few chapters written already, so I feel safe posting the next two chapters. Fair warning - I'm not really sure where this story is going but I'm in the process of writing a very angsty reunion fic, so I wanted to write something a bit more on the fun side.

* * *

Two.

Two hours later, he is sitting on an airplane that is waiting its turn to barrel down the runway. McGee was kind enough to find him a window seat on a rare direct flight. He stares at the green grass separating his runway from the next one over. Woven around his fingers is a delicate gold necklace chain. He presses the Star of David charm against his palm and finally stops repressing the gamut of emotions that have been threatening to spill out if not for the flurry of activity.

He was angry with himself, and with her, for weeks after she had sent him back to the States without her. After trying to drown himself in alcohol and lack of sleep, he had pulled out the list of "Wills" that he had written on the long flight back from Israel, and gotten to work. The first item was "I will learn to live without her." So he did. He let go of his anger, accepted their end for what it was, and kept living his life. In place of the anger grew a longing that he keeps tucked carefully in the back of his mind.

Now he just misses her, plain and simple. He treasures the messages in bottles that she sent to him occasionally. The drawer in the table next to his bed contains all the cards. Some of the postcards simply said something simple like "Thinking of you" or "Hope you are well," with a pretty picture of an ocean or an interesting bit of architecture. The birthday and Christmas cards usually include some inside joke or a botched American colloquialism. Until now, her Star of David necklace resided in the same drawer.

Why didn't she want him to know where she is? He feels a little pang of jealousy that she trusted Gibbs with her location but not him. He knows that it is because Gibbs wouldn't show up on her front doorstep unless it was an urgent matter. There is no way Tony would have been able to resist, and she knew it.

As much as it hurts to admit it, she was right. They needed a clean break.

Like ripping off a bandaid. Or detoxing from cocaine.

Leaving her on that runway is still the most difficult thing he has done. Granted, it wasn't the first time he had slept with a woman only to never see her again. But this was Ziva - his partner of eight long years.

At first, he regretted their impulsive decision to give in to the years of physical attraction and hard-earned love and trust, but now he knows that they needed to get that out of their systems. Once the bitterness left him, he started seeing it as their parting gift to each other. One last fond memory to keep them warm on long, lonely nights.

In the bedroom she had slept in as a young child, they had undressed each other slowly, as if they knew that this would be the only time they would do so and they needed to memorize the peeling of each layer.

He had originally thought that the first time they gave in to desire would be a frenzy, clothes flying everywhere, knocking over some furniture, throwing caution - and Rule 12 - to the wind. Passionate and with reckless abandon.

He had spent some time in the last few years coming up with scenarios on how it would go. Little did he know that it would be tinged with sadness and longing. Still passionate, but hazy with the knowledge that there would not be a repeat performance for a prolonged period of time, if ever again.

At the same time, he wouldn't trade the moment with any of his fantasies. His fantasies could never quite capture the look on her face and the sound of her gasps and the smoothness of her skin. Despite her glib, arch comments in the past about being a screamer, that was not his experience.

He wishes the next memory in his mental timeline was not of leaving her on the tarmac, but so it goes.

His thoughts wander to the bantering that he and Ziva had engaged in seemingly endlessly. He misses it, but then again, he misses everything about her. In order to function daily and live his life, he has had to tuck the longing into a back pocket so it didn't overwhelm him.

In a few hours, he will be face to face with her and he simultaneously can't wait and dreads it.

What if it is clear that she does not want to see him?

Even though everything about the Jacob Scott case sucks, he is glad he will have a legitimate excuse when she inevitably asks him what he is doing there. He can say that Gibbs sent him, and that Gibbs gave him her address. Yup. All Gibbs' fault. She can follow him back to DC and go full ninja on the boss man.

He wonders if she has retained her ninja skills. The first item on her list of "Wills" was "I will let go of the badge." He does not doubt that she has been successful at this. He will be very surprised if she tells him that she is once again a Mossad operative. Her primary goal in leaving him and NCIS behind was to shed her violent past. But then again, once a ninja, always a ninja.

He supposes she could be a ninja without being Mossad or NCIS. Her quick reactions, fierce independence, feistiness - he thinks these are characteristics of her, not of her years of Mossad training.

His thoughts wander to what she has been up to the last two years. Her correspondence left no clues as to either her occupation or location, other than the general country stamps on the envelopes. Mostly she was in Israel when she postmarked his cards, but he got an occasional envelope from a small handful of European countries.

Maybe she has just spent the whole time traveling around, reading books, enjoying the sights that she had to miss when she was on missions. He doubts it - she wasn't exactly the leisurely type and he doesn't think she would change that much. Plus, he is sure her father left her a good deal of money but it couldn't be enough to fund a jetsetting lifestyle.

In any case, he will be able to ask her soon enough. He finally feels calm enough to close his eyes and sleep the rest of the way back to her.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Long chapter here.

* * *

Three.

It is dark when the plane touches down in Tel Aviv and when he turns his phone back on, it helpfully informs him that it is a little before 2200. He has never been good with time zones.

He steps out of the airport into the humid Israeli air, duffel bag in hand, and has the feeling of displacement that always accompanies transatlantic flights. He allows himself a few lungfuls of fresh air before heading to his rental car.

The rental, helpfully equipped with GPS, has him arriving at Ziva's in 20 minutes. Just a few minutes until he sees her again. His heart is pounding in his chest as he lets the GPS navigate him around the city. Finally, the canned voice chirpily announces that he has arrived at his destination, one minute ahead of schedule.

It is a small white stucco house with a flat roof. In front of the house are two tall palm trees, standing like dark sentinels. He can see light coming from the ground floor windows and he is relieved that she seems to be awake. He takes a deep breath and walks up the short paved walkway to knock on the front door.

He waits for what seems like an hour but is likely an appropriate amount of time. Then the door slowly opens a crack and her familiar face appears.

" _Tony_?"

Her voice is incredulous and the surprise on her face is evident. She opens the door wider and steps aside to let him in.

Despite his stuttering heart, he smirks when he sees that she is holding a small gun against her leg. "Greet all old friends like this, Sweetcheeks?" he can't help asking.

She narrows her eyes at him as she reapplies the safety on the gun and tucks it back in a little table near the door. "Old friends who appear out of the blue late at night, yes," she says. She frowns at him. "What is going on?"

"Hi Tony. Hi Ziva. How've you been? Oh, you know, same as always. And you?" he responds pointedly, mimicking a normal conversation between two friends.

She continues frowning at him. "Pleasantries later. Gibbs is the only one who had my address and he would only give it to you if it was important. So tell me what is going on." She sits on the overstuffed brown couch, where some textbooks are sitting, and gestures for him to also sit. He sits in a worn leather armchair.

To keep her from grabbing the gun and pointing it at him, he gets right to the point. "There's a rogue officer who has been causing some trouble," he starts.

"NCIS?"

"MI6," he replies, gauging her reaction.

Her frown deepens. "Why is NCIS involved if it's a British agency?"

He sighs and rubs his forehead. "He's targeting current and former officers of different agencies who were involved in the death of his wife, who was Russian intelligence. He killed Tom Morrow."

Her eyebrows shoot up at this piece of news. Tony continues. "He shot Fornell."

Her eyebrows rise even higher on her forehead and she finally looks a bit alarmed. "Is he dead?" she asks.

"No, last I heard, he was in stable but critical condition. The bullet decided to spare major organs, at least."

She blinks and takes a moment to process the news. "This is all bad news, but why did it land you on my front door?" she asks.

He exhales slowly. "The rogue agent is looking for you, but we don't know why. I'm here to give you the heads up," he explains, leaving out the protective custody part for now.

Her eyes narrow again. "Why the personal visit? Gibbs has my phone number."

He would have been surprised to hear that Gibbs has her number yesterday, but he just accepts that she did not believe he would be able to resist calling her. She would have been right. "I'm supposed to bring you back and place you in protective custody until we catch him." There is no point in sugar coating the truth.

Another pause from her. "I am not going into protective custody," she says predictably. "I have final exams starting next week and I will not miss them."

The second part is news to him. "You're a student?" he asks stupidly.

"Yes," she replies, gesturing toward the open textbooks. "At Tel Aviv University. I graduate this spring, so these exams are very important."

"So is your life," he counters, but then stops. "Wait, you're graduating? It's been what, two years?"

She smiles. "Two and a half years. I had some college credit from when I was in high school and then I just worked hard." A pause, and then she repeats, "I am not going into protective custody."

"Ziva. We caught a guy snooping around outside your old apartment in DC and even Gibbs couldn't break him to find out why. It's only a matter of time before they find out you're enrolled in a university in Tel Aviv," he explains in a slow voice, as if she is a child.

"I know how to protect myself," she argues stubbornly.

He rolls his eyes at her. "You've been a student for two years. I'm sure you're out of practice."

She arches an eyebrow at him. "You want to test me?"

He sighs in exasperation. How did he forget how aggravating she can be? "Maybe later, Sweetcheeks."

She looks at him for a long silent moment, unreadable. He wills himself to look back at her steadily, not wanting to betray how he actually feels about seeing her again.

"Would you like some tea?" she asks eventually, getting off the couch. He nods at her. She disappears into the kitchen and he hears the sound of running water and the click of a stovetop turning on.

He takes the time to survey his surroundings. It is sparsely but tastefully decorated. No TV but there is a tall bookshelf brimming with books. He grins at this - some things don't change. No photos of anyone on her walls or on the side table next to the couch. None of her NCIS family, but none of any new friends either. More importantly, none that signal any romantic relationship in which she may currently be.

It appears that she lives there alone and that lifts his mood, although he pushes that aside for now. He has a mission - get her to DC, protect her until Scott is apprehended.

She returns a few minutes later, a steaming mug in each hand. She hands one to him and sits back on the couch. "You look well," she observes, her eyes scanning him.

"You too," he replies. And she does. Her hair is shorter than it was almost three years ago but with the same curls. He can't place his finger on what exactly it is about her, but she looks more relaxed than he has ever seen her, more at peace. Abby would say that her aura has changed. She is wearing shorts and his eyes linger a moment too long on her bare legs. "Retirement looks good on you," he adds.

She finally smiles at him. He returns the smile and their eyes linger on each other for a beat too long. She sighs and is the first to break the gaze. "Look, Tony, about what we said last time we saw each other..."

The whispered words as they clung to each other in the dark the night before he left Israel the last time come back to him.

 _"What am I going to do without you?"_

 _"You will do what you have always done."_

 _"It isn't fair."_

 _"No, it is not. But life is not fair. We know this."_

 _"I love you."_

 _"I know."_

 _"But you're still making me leave."_

 _"Yes."_

No "I love you" back. He knew then and he still knows that she did love him. She was just so damaged that she couldn't say it out loud. But she showed him with her actions and he knows that counts for a lot.

He shakes his head at her. "You don't have to. I get it. I was pissed for a while but I promise, I'm not anymore."

Her relief is palpable. "I was actually going to call you some time soon," she says.

He raises his eyebrows at her. "Oh were you?"

"Yes."

"May I ask why you were going to break the radio silence?"

She licks her lip, seemingly nervously and takes a sip of tea. "I am graduating this spring," she begins slowly.

"You mentioned," he says, encouraging her to elaborate.

"I am planning on going to graduate school. And I have a number of options."

His heart starts beating a little faster in anticipation. "Oh? Like where?"

"Well, here. University of Cambridge. Columbia University. Georgetown," she lists, still slowly, her eyes watching for his reaction.

He wants to jump up and down. "Georgetown, huh?"

"Yes." She is still talking carefully.

"Where are you thinking of going?" he asks, his heart almost in his throat.

She breaks eye contact with him and looks down at her mug. "I have not decided yet. It depends."

"Well," he says, shoring up the courage. "Provided we don't get blown away by this deranged Brit, I vote for Georgetown. I hear DC is a pretty nice place to live."

She looks back up at him, almost shyly and smiles genuinely. "I will take note of your preference."

They silently gaze at each other again. Tony half expects Gibbs to come around the corner and slap his head.

Eventually, she blinks and looks away. "I am still not going into protective custody. But you are welcome to send an agent here to stand outside my classroom door while I take my exams."

He grins. "Well, I'm an agent. And I'm here."

"Oh, I didn't mean you." She says it quickly, then looks like she regrets having done so.

The grin drops off his face. "Well, hey. That hurts."

She sighs and explains, "No, I just meant. You are a senior field agent and you should be in on the manhunt for this man - what did you say his name is?"

"Jacob Scott."

She gets a far off look in her eye that he recognizes as her accessing the deep abyss of her memory. "Russian intelligence wife, about a decade ago?"

"Yes."

"I believe I provided Jenny Shepard with intelligence regarding the wife's location."

He exhales. "Man, I love your photographic memory," he mutters, then pulls out his phone. "Let me relay that back to Gibbs."

She continues sipping her tea as he calls Gibbs, who answers his cell phone with the typical "Yeah."

"Hey boss. I'm with Ziva and she says she provided Jenny Shepard with intelligence about the wife, which probably led to her death." Tony knows how much Gibbs loves talking, so he keeps to the essential details.

"Tell her thanks," was the gruff reply.

"So uh," he hesitates here for a second. "She's refusing to come in to protective custody."

"Huh."

"Yeah. So I figured I'd stay here for a while, watch her six, report back anything I might see." He says it as casually as possible. Ziva raises her eyebrows at his plan.

Gibbs is so silent that for half a minute, Tony thinks he hung up in response to his plan. "You sure you want to babysit? I was going to send you to Russia to follow a lead."

"Nah, I'm good here. Send Bishop, I think she's been itching to travel and get her mind off her divorce."

Gibbs snorts. "I know that feeling. Fine. Call if anything comes up." With that, he hangs up abruptly.

Tony closes his phone and says to it, "Well, that was easier than I thought it would be."

"I have not agreed to this arrangement," Ziva retorts. She does not sound overly thrilled by the idea of Tony acting as her bodyguard.

"Too bad, Sweetcheeks," he smirks at her. "How often do we give protectees a choice in the matter?"

She huffs a breath and mutters something under her breath in Hebrew.

"Same to you." He winks at her even though he has no idea what she said.

She snorts and stands up. "Well, if you are staying, let me show you to your room. I am exhausted and I know how your back aches after a long flight."

He follows her up the stairs with his duffel bag. "Nice place you have here," he states.

"I sold my father's house and bought this one. His was too big. This one is closer to the university"

And likely she did not want to live in his house, with his ghost following her around everywhere.

At the top of the stairs, he takes her hand. "Hey," he says quietly. "I just dropped in out of nowhere, bringing your old life back. How're you handling it?"

She looks at his hand in hers. It is the first time they have touched in almost three years. "I figured it would happen sooner or later. But it is okay." She looks up at him. "I am glad to see you."

He gives her a small, intimate smile. "I'm glad to hear you're glad. I thought maybe you'd punch me in the face."

"I have not ruled it out," she retorts but gives his hand a squeeze. "Come on, the guest room is over here."

He considers making a joke about staying in her room but decides it is a little bit too much too soon. Plus, it wouldn't totally be a joke.

The guest room is small with just enough space for a queen sized bed. "Cozy," he comments, sinking on to the bed. It is just the right amount of soft and he lets out a small moan as his back cracks in three different locations.

She chuckles quietly. "Well, good night," she says. She hesitates, then steps over to him and puts her hand on his stubbly cheek before kissing his forehead. He can't help it - he leans in to her touch.

"I missed you," he murmers, inhaling her familiar scent of vanilla and sandalwood.

Her breath hitches and she withdraws her hand after a moment. "I missed you, too. Sleep now. We will talk more in the morning, yes?"

He can suddenly barely keep his eyes open despite his nap on the plane. "Sounds good. G'night, Sweetcheeks."

He lays back on the bed and is asleep before she leaves the room.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Someone asked if this is going to go in a different direction in light of last night's episode. I'm actually on Chapter 9 right now, so no. We are going to pretend that last night's episode never happened here.

* * *

Four.

He wakes to sunlight assaulting him. "Gah," he mumbles, with no idea what time it is or where he is.

His mind comes online after a few blinks and he remembers. Ziva. Israel. The brightest sun he has ever encountered. The bedside clock helpfully informs him that it is 7:30. He assumes that is AM.

He stumbles downstairs and sees Ziva in the kitchen. She wordlessly hands him a mug and he sniffs it. Coffee. He downs half of it, almost scorching his throat. Instantly he wakes up more, and he processes Ziva's running attire. "Went for a run, huh?"

"Yes, I got back an hour ago," she says, setting about preparing breakfast.

"So you know the whole thing about protective custody is that you're not supposed to just leave and be alone."

She rolls her eyes. "I can take care of myself," she mutters, cracking an egg. "Plus, this is not protective custody."

He smirks at her. "Oh really?" She rolls her eyes again and doesn't respond. "So what is on your agenda for today?"

"Studying and grocery shopping." The normalcy of this makes him want to laugh. "What?" she asks, recognizing his attempt to not burst into laughter.

"It's just so... normal," he explains, getting a grip on himself. "Not ninja-like at all."

She gives him a half smile. "I am just a normal college girl now, Tony. At least until graduation."

They gaze at each other for a long moment. He breaks the silence to say, in a serious tone, "I really am happy for you, Ziva. You have the normal life you were aiming for." He thinks about their current situation, then adds, "Well, almost."

She gives him a half smile and continues making breakfast. "I want to hear all about the team. Is Gibbs working on a new boat? Does Abby still bowl with her nuns? Have Jimmy and Breena adopted a baby yet?"

"I actually have no idea what Gibbs is working on right now. Abby still bowls with the nuns. Jimmy and Breena adopted a cute baby girl. Ducky is still Ducky. And McGee is in a very serious, very committed relationship with a woman."

She raises her eyebrows. "Good for McGee, he deserves it. And I will send a present to Jimmy and Breena." She hesitates and then asks, "How about you?"

"Well," he begins slowly, weighing in his mind how much to tell her. "I've been busy, you know, charming the ladies and getting the bad guys."

She eyes him. "Clearly. But what else? Uh, charming any one lady in particular?" She stutters a little over the words in her attempt at a casual tone and concentrates extra hard on the contents of her frying pan.

 _You_ , he wants to respond. "Nah. Too busy doing the work thing."

He leaves out the part about work wearing him down and how he is considering a change. He is still trying to figure out what change he wants and he knows how she likes to ask the tough questions.

"All work and no play, Tony. It makes you a dull boy, yes?" She raises an eyebrow.

"Ziva David. Have you ever known me to be dull?" he responds in mock offense. She throws a smirk his way. "And you? Is there a normal boy in your normal life?" He replicates her falsely casual tone.

She snorts. "My classmates are more than 10 years younger than me and unlike some people," she shoots him a sharp look at this and he puts a mock offended look on his face, "I am not interested in children."

He is more pleased with this than he should admit to himself and he ignores her dig at his preference for younger women. "What about professors?" He wriggles his eyebrows suggestively to hide his interest.

"I am fairly certain that Schmeil would kill me if I took up with one of his colleagues," she replies smoothly, her attention back on her now sizzling frying pan.

"Schmeil, my old pal! How is he?" He figures it is safer now to move the subject away from their lack of love lives, in case either is tempted to delve further into the reasons why they are both uncoupled. He figures the harsh light of day is not the best time for revealing those secrets.

She smiles. "He is doing well, but he is getting more frail every day. I tell him to take it easy and he never listens."

"Gee, I can't think of anyone else who never takes it easy after being told to do so."

Her smile turns into a smirk but she doesn't say anything in response. She moves the contents of her frying pan on to plates and hands him one. Scrambled eggs mixed with vegetables and bits of bacon. "Not keeping kosher, I see," he notes casually.

"It is kosher turkey bacon."

He looks at the plate in disgust but takes a big bite anyway. "Maybe turkey bacon gets a bad rap," he concedes. She smirks at him again as she eats from her own plate, standing at the counter.

"Do you plan on just staring at me while I study?" she asks.

He raises an eyebrow at her. "As much fun as that sounds, I have my own work to do. I figure I can run some searches and you know, do stuff."

She nods and they finish eating in companionable silence. Part of him can't believe he is standing in Ziva's kitchen, eating. The other part of him feels so at home, it is almost unnerving. The rapport between the two of them seems the same as it ever did and he wonders if it is really that easy. They are joking around, poking fun of each other, and even flirting a little.

He missed this. A lot.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Okay, okay, I promise I am going to finish this one. And no, I will not be incorporating pretty much anything from Family First into the story. No Tali, even though *squee* Tony/Ziva love child. Love or hate the season finale, it has done wonders for my years-old writer's block. I have so many ideas and I'm trying to wrangle them into readable things that are more than emotional, incoherent babblings.

In the meantime, lets see what these two crazy kids are up to.

* * *

Five.

She settles down on the couch with her books and he sits at the small dining table with his laptop. Silence is only punctured by her muttering to herself and the clicking of his keyboard. "Hey, I never asked," he says. "What are you studying?"

She holds up a textbook, but of course it is in Hebrew and it gives him no clues. "Psychology."

His eyebrows shoot up his forehead in surprise. "Really?"

"Yes."

"Gibbs would hate that."

She chuckles. "Yes, I realize."

"What do you plan on doing with your degree in shrinkdom?"

She frowns in confusion at the word but replies, "I want to provide services to women who have been sexually victimized or exploited. My masters will be in counseling."

He nods, processing this. It is a good fit for her. She speaks about a dozen languages and always seemed to have a rapport with the abused women who appeared too often in their NCIS cases. He wonders if it is also a way of her giving penance for the violence she wrought herself.

They lapse back into silence. As he pecks away at his keyboard and frowns occasionally at his screen, he thinks about the long days and nights in the bullpen that they spent in similar silence. He can't shake the feeling that this feels right. Even with a vengeance-bent Brit on the loose, he feels more relaxed than he has in a long time. A smile spreads across his face before he can check it.

He had played out their eventual reunion multiple times in their time apart. After he had purged himself of his bitter feelings for her, he had held on to the hope that they would meet again. He imagined a number of scenarios - him saving her, her saving him, running into each other on the street, making eye contact from across a hotel lobby.

Never did he let himself hope that it would go this smoothly.

At his lowest moments, when he didn't have energy to hold on to the hope that their story didn't end on a runway in Tel Aviv, he imagined his life without her in it. It would be tolerable, just barely so. A vast expanse that he would spend a lot of energy trying to fill, to no avail.

He should know - he spent some time trying to fill that space in his heart that was left empty for the first time in years after she left. He came probably as close as he ever could with Zoe, but that had predictably ended in ruin. In the end, he just couldn't care about her the way she wanted or deserved. She knew it, too. The look on her face as he started pulling away from their relationship still makes him feel guilty.

Then he tried reverting back to Casual Dater Tony, but he just couldn't. He failed miserably. Finally, he came to the conclusion that if his big reunion with Ziva never happened, he was destined to a life as a bachelor. Maybe he would graduate from goldfish and get a dog. Plenty of guys stayed single their whole lives. And they were happy, right?

Or he would be like Gibbs, living with ghosts, woodworking in his basement with bourbon.

He doesn't even have a basement. And he's lousy with woodworking tools.

He is relieved that he won't have to worry about that. Now that she is back in his life, he won't be letting her go.

He realizes how creepy this sounds taken out of context, but he is confident enough in _them_ that she won't mind one bit when he refuses to go this time. And she seems different now - maybe he won't have to refuse to go. Maybe she'll ask him to stay.

At noon, he stretches his arms over his head and yawns. "Can we take a study break for lunch?" he asks, his stomach rumbling.

She looks up at him. "Yes. I could use a falafel." Her response makes him chuckle and she looks inquisitively at him.

"You may be a normal college girl, but you still love your falafels," he explains.

She gives him a genuine smile, one that reaches into her eyes. "There is a place down the street. Maybe we can walk there and stretch our legs?" He nods in agreement.

Just a normal lunch between two normal people with a normal shared past.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Thanks for the reviews and follows. I realize I'm late to the party - posting Tiva fic after they have been written off the show, and I appreciate the welcome.

* * *

Six.

Forty-five minutes later, they are headed back to her house, bellies full, legs stretched. She is telling him about some of her classmates, who are younger and just generally less experienced. They are full of ideals, and while it makes her feel world-weary, it also invigorates her. Most of them do not know who her father was or what she has done, and the anonymity is refreshing.

For once, he listens more than he talks, enjoying the animation in her voice as she describes the most immature of her classmates and how she has to stop herself from throwing things at them.

As they approach her house, he stops suddenly. "Does something seem... off?" he asks.

She frowns as she looks around. "Maybe. I am not sure," she replies quietly. "Do you have a feeling in your gut?"

He nods, looking around as well. His spidey senses are tingling but he can't quite put his finger on it. "Maybe I'm still jet lagged," he says after a moment, not seeing anything out of the ordinary. "But let me enter first."

She shrugs at him, knowing she has no ground to argue otherwise since she no longer carries a bevy of weapons on her. They approach the house cautiously. Ziva unlocks the front door while Tony draws his weapon. He enters and sees nothing. He checks the rest of the house while Ziva waits by the door, tense, the gun from last night in her hand again. He comes back down the staircase and shrugs. "Nothing," he says. "My gut was probably telling me that the babka was a bad idea."

After a moment, she shakes her head. "No, now I feel like something is off," she replies. "Hold on." She walks over to her bookshelf, removes a book in the middle of it and opens it up to reveal a small video camera. "We can check the footage from while we were out," she says, going over to his laptop.

She sees him gaping at her. "Like I said, I knew it was a matter of time before someone from my past came back to haunt me. I wanted to be prepared." She navigates past the password screen - how in the world did she know what it is? he wonders briefly - plugs the camera in, and starts clicking around. He stands behind her and looks over her shoulder as she rewinds the footage until the time stamp matches when they left for lunch.

She speeds up the footage a bit. "There!" She slows the video back down as the front door opens and a man cautiously enters. The tiny camera, from its vantage point in the bookshelf, records the man, who wears gloves but whose face is bare, as he looks at but doesn't touch her textbooks. Tony has never seen the man before and the frown on Ziva's face tells him she hasn't, either. He then goes over to Tony's laptop and turns it on, but turns it back off when it prompts him for a password.

"Not a computer whiz, apparently," Tony comments.

They watch the man disappear upstairs for what seems like a long time, then come back down the stairs and exit out the front door. He was there for a total of about ten minutes but it is enough to send a chill down Tony's spine. "Send the video to Abby, see if she can find out who he is," Tony says, going into full investigator mode. He pulls out his cell phone and dials Gibbs. "Boss, we got a problem," he says by way of greeting.

He gives Gibbs a rundown of what had occurred while they were out. "Ziva's sending the video to Abby for an ID on the guy," he concludes.

Gibbs is silent for a long minute, processing everything Tony has just told him. "Get her to DC," he says. "It'll be easier to protect her from here."

Tony sighs and says, "I'll try."

"Just do it." With a click, Gibbs hangs up.

Ziva looks up at him. "Gibbs wants us to go back to DC," she guesses. "I think that is a terrible idea."

Of course she does. He sighs again and rubs his forehead. "What do you want to do? Wait here until Jacob Scott comes here himself and shoots up your house?"

She glares at him. "No. But I imagine it will be difficult for Scott to get to Israel undetected with so many agencies on the lookout for him. Why would we go towards the danger?"

The logic coming from her mouth is uncharacteristic. Before, she was always the first one to jump headlong into the path of danger. He blinks at her. "So what do you propose, Sweetcheeks?"

She purses her lips and thinks. "I still have some contacts who can help. We can get out of Israel undetected and it will be easier to disappear then."

"What about finals?" he asks, sighing and packing up his laptop.

She echoes his sigh. "I suppose staying alive is more important than finals. Maybe we can be back by Tuesday." He knows she knows how unrealistic this hope is so he doesn't say anything to contradict her. "I will pack a bag and we can go to my contact."

He sits on the arm of the couch and rubs his forehead again. It all went to shit so quickly, but he supposes that it always does. He shoots off a quick text to McGee that reads, "Ziva won't go to DC. Will contact when we can."

Ziva returns five minutes later with his bag in one hand and a backpack slung over her back. "Okay," she says, then looks around her living room. "I had grown fond of this place," she mutters, her voice tinged with regret.

He offers a sympathetic smile, remembering how he felt after his own home had been shot up by a sniper. "Maybe with you not here, they'll leave it alone."

She tucks her gun into her backpack and mutters, "I knew I would get sucked back in eventually."


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Two chapters in one day. Happy Wednesday! I'm almost finished with chapter 10 and I've edited this chapter about 5 times, so I feel comfortable putting it up. Enjoy! And, of course, review.

A big thank you to those who are following the story. While not new to fanfic and NCIS, I am new to NCIS fanfic. It's weird to be posting fics for characters who aren't even on the show, but I also haven't really watched since Ziva left, so I guess that just goes to show how captivating Ziva and Tony are.

* * *

Seven.

Her contact ends up being Tony's favorite Shin Bet officer, Adam Eschel. He had hoped that Adam had dropped out of Ziva's life after she left the badge behind. He knows that he is being unreasonable, considering Ziva had told him that their dalliance had been a one-time thing that meant nothing to her, but he narrows his eyes a little when Adam approaches and greets Ziva with a "shalom" and a hug.

"It has been a long time, Ziva. How is university?" Adam says, holding her at arm's length and checking her out. "You look well."

"University is going well. I graduate soon," she replies, then nods her head towards Tony. "You remember Tony DiNozzo?"

Adam nods in greeting toward Tony. "Still with NCIS?" he asks.

"Yep," he replies, channeling his inner Gibbs and keeping the chit-chat to a minimum.

"How can I help?" Adam gets right to the point.

"You know about the rogue MI6 agent, Jacob Scott?" Tony asks.

Adam sighs and nods. "Yes, we have been trying to track him as well. We have no indication he has been in Israel, however. The rumor is that he shot an FBI director in DC and we believe he is still in the area."

Tony nods in confirmation. "But he's looking for Ziva and we think he sent someone to track her down here."

"Someone went through my house while we were out. We need to get out of Israel undetected," Ziva explains.

"Give me two hours. I will meet you back in this spot with the things you need," Adam says, then quickly strides back in the direction of his office.

Ziva turns to Tony and gives him a half smile. "How would you like to spend those two hours?" she asks.

He shrugs. "Coffee?"

She nods and leads the way to a cafe a few blocks away. After they order, they sit inside, near the back where they can keep an eye on anyone who enters. "So," he says. "Are you excited to be on the run?"

"No. I would rather take my exams," she replies, taking a sip of black coffee and scanning the few patrons.

He gives her a mock wounded look. "But come on. You're on the run with me. Can't be _that_ bad."

She glances at him with a smile before resuming her scan of the cafe. "Maybe," she allows.

They are silent for a few minutes. He watches her watch the other patrons They have been getting along very well - almost _too_ well - but he knows that they have been skirting around some unresolved issues. Such as whether he has a place in her new, normal life. He hopes he does, because he knows that he doesn't want to live without her. He told her that, years ago, under the influence of truth serum, and it still applies. He tried and it sucked and he doesn't want to go back to that. But they're about to go on the run and he's not sure she will be able to handle getting pulled back into her old life and having a conversation about her feelings at the same time.

He knows he should be worried for their safety. But he has an unreasonable urge to just _touch_ her, make sure she is real. He has been refraining all day but his resolve is slipping. He drums his fingers on the table to keep them from inching towards her.

She ticks her eyes back toward him. "What?" she asks.

"What what?" he counters, putting on his most innocent facial expression.

She gives him a pointed look and puts her hand over his dancing fingers. "I threatened to stab a classmate with a pencil during a test for shaking his leg."

He chuckles. "I bet that isn't even a joke." He pauses, considering. Maybe it would be better if he cleared the air now and left no doubt in her mind about how he feels for her. She might kill him, but maybe it would make him less jittery. He looks her straight in the eye and says seriously, "Listen, I have something to tell you."

"This is all an elaborate prank, there is no rogue agent after me, and you made me contact Adam for the first time in months for no reason?" she replies, raising an eyebrow. She squeezes his hand, which she is still holding.

He is sidetracked for a minute. "Wait, you haven't seen your trusted buddy Adam for months, even though you've lived in the same city?" Not that he cares. He is over her dalliance with Adam.

Or so he tells himself. It was much easier to be over it when she was half a world away.

She shrugs. "He wanted a romantic relationship. I told him in no uncertain terms that would never happen. After, I figured it was better if I did not rub it in his face by hanging around."

He raises an eyebrow, not displeased by this news. In Berlin, he got a definite vibe from Adam that he felt differently for Ziva than she felt for him, but after learning about what had happened between them after Eli David's funeral, he thought he had read that wrong. And had a tortured couple of white nights over it.

She relates this news matter-of-factly, but he knows the old Ziva would not have given up this information readily. He debates with himself whether to dig further or not, and the more inquisitive part of him wins out. "Why don't you want a relationship with him?" As if he has a right to ask her that.

"I have known him since we were children. I have never felt that way toward him," she replies, granting him that right. "Plus, I am... otherwise occupied."

She could just be referencing her busy class schedule, but the way she is looking at him makes him think otherwise and his heart skips a beat. He swallows and picks up his previous line of thought. "Ziva..."

Before he can get any further, one of the baristas gasps loudly and announces to the cafe, "There was a terrorist attack."

Someone else asks, "Where?"

"Outside the city. Mortar fire hit a farmhouse." She flips on the cafe's small tv screen that is mounted to a wall. The image that flickers to life is that of a farmhouse surrounded by an olive grove. Or, what used to be a farmhouse - there are flames and smoke. The olive trees closest to the house are also on fire.

Ziva and Tony look at each other, their eyes reflecting the other's panic now. The farmhouse is very familiar - Eli David's farm. Ziva's early childhood home. Where she had first stayed when she moved back to Israel. And, although he tries to push it to the back of his mind because it isn't important right now, a more intimate memory of that house bubbles to the surface. Of finally seeing what she looks like when she falls to pieces above him, the taste of her bare skin.

"Well," she says after a long beat, looking more composed. "Now I know this is not one of your pranks."

She does not comment on the fact that her childhood home has been incinerated. She releases her hold on Tony's hand so she can twist in her seat to get a better view of the tv. It is in Hebrew, but she translates information she finds interesting. The property once belonged to the former head of Mossad and is still owned by his family. It does not appear anyone was inside at the time. It is unusual for a house in the countryside to be the target of a terrorist attack, but considering the former owner, it is unsurprising. No mention of Jacob Scott or Ziva herself.

Tony's phone vibrates in his back pocket. He digs it out. A text from McGee, asking for confirmation that they were not just blown up. Tony confirms that they are not laying in tiny pieces, then turns off his phone and puts it in his duffel bag. "Just in case someone wants to track my signal. Should have done it hours ago," Tony mutters, mostly to himself.

Ziva turns back to face him. "I do not think anyone is tracking your signal, or _we_ would be toast, not my childhood home."

"Fair point."

She looks at her watch and stands up. "We should go meet Adam."

They make their way back to their original meeting spot near the Shin Bet headquarters and wait for Adam, facing in opposite directions to look for any signs of a tail or anyone coming at them with, say, an uzi.

Adam arrives shortly. He hands a manila envelope to Ziva. "IDs and money. You will take a freight train to Haifa, then catch a military flight to Italy. They will be waiting for you," he says by way of greeting.

Ziva gives a brief nod. "Thank you, Adam."

He hesitates, then asks, "You heard about your father's farmhouse?"

"Yes," she responds briefly, her voice finally sounding a bit shaken. "Any casualties?"

"No, not that we have been able to find" Adam replies, confirming what they heard on the news. "I must get back. Be safe, and contact me when you can."

Ziva nods again. Adam pauses for another minute like he wants to say more, but his eyes flick toward Tony. He walks off briskly without another word. They watch him leave for a moment, then Ziva turns to Tony. Her face looks somewhat melancholy and Tony doesn't know if it is because of the house or the loss of a childhood friend. "We should go catch our train."


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: I have a confession to make, readers. I had absolutely no idea where this story was going when I first started it. All I knew was that I wanted this alternate end to Dead Letter, and I wanted Tony and Ziva to go on the run somewhere near an ocean/sea/salty body of water. I usually have a basic blueprint for a story before I start writing, but not here. I feel like it has shown in some of the previous chapters. I forced myself to think about where I want it to go and even considered wrapping up the story quickly using a deux ex machina device just so I can move on to better things. But I'm not going to do that. I know where I want this story to go now and I will follow it to the end.

Also, it is a holiday weekend here in the States. I am posting three chapters to tide you over as I will not be posting for the next few days. I will, however, continue writing.

Confession 2: A lot of my writing is done on my phone, then I edit on a computer.

* * *

Eight.

"Well, this is cozy," Tony says as Ziva almost tumbles into him. She frowns at him as she straightens herself back into a sitting position.

They are in a half full boxcar, bumping along the tracks toward Haifa. The only light they have is what filters in from the vents toward the top of the car. "This is like that time when you got us stuck in that shipping container."

She rolls her eyes. "I did not get us stuck in there, Tony. Plus, it is unlikely there are bombs on board."

He grins at her. "It was definitely you, but I forgave you years ago."

"Oh good. I was worried," she shoots back, but her eyes are twinkling at him.

They lapse into silence as they roll along, occasionally needing to steady themselves. They sit close enough together that their shoulders bump regularly as they sway back and forth.

"Tony?" Her voice sounds hesitant, even though she needs to speak loudly to be heard over the noise.

"Sweetcheeks," he says by way of response, gritting his teeth as they hit a particularly bumpy part of the track. His ass is going to be sore for a month.

"You were going to say something before, in the cafe."

Dammit. He had been hoping she had forgotten. Before, they weren't completely sure anyone knew Ziva was in Tel Aviv. But the bombing confirmed that Scott knows, and now things are more serious. He doesn't think now is the time to pour his heart out to her. "I don't remember," he says glibly.

She doesn't buy it. "Yes, you do."

He sighs. "This isn't the best time," he stalls.

"We are in private. We have nothing to do but try not to fall over. And this is a worse time than in the cafe?" she presses.

He sighs, more deeply this time, then rubs his hand over his face. "Fine," he says. "I really missed you."

"You said that last night."

He frowns at her. "Hey, I'm confessing here. Don't interrupt." She raises her eyebrows at him but keeps her mouth shut. "I thought I was past this. But I look at you and all I can think is..." He trails off.

Her eyes are soft and her breath seems to be catching in her throat, although it could just be the bumpy ride. "Yes?" she prompts him.

He shakes his head slightly, struggling for the right words. "I was wrong before."

She blinks at him and deadpans, "Yes, often. Do you have a specific time in mind?" The affectionate smile on her face softens her words.

"When I was trying to get you to go back to DC with me." She nods but doesn't say anything. "I told you that I wanted you to go home with me. But home isn't DC. It's where your heart is. And it's a cliche but I don't care. Because my home is with _you_."

In the dim, filtered light, he sees tears gather in her eyes. The look she gives him is enough to confirm she feels the same way and his heart feels so full it could burst, She responds in a thick voice, "And you are where mine is."

He gives her that private smile that he only shares with her and leans in to kiss her, which he has wanted to do since she answered her door last night. The train conveniently hits another bump on the track and his nose bumps into hers before he can reach her lips. He sighs. "I'm kissing you as soon as we get off this train."

She smiles softly at him. "This is the most honest conversation we have ever had," she comments.

"Yeah, it only took a couple of years apart to get here," he smirks. Then, more seriously, "I had to say it in case our train derails and we fall into the ocean or something."

"Oh, that rarely happens," she says dismissively, but then her face gets serious again. "But I was also worried that it would be too late. I thought I would call you to tell you about Georgetown and you would tell me that you had moved on."

They just gaze at each other for what seems like hours. He is impressed with how open she is being with him. It makes it so much easier for him to reciprocate and be open with her. Although two years ago he would have adamantly stated otherwise, the time apart had been good for her. The Ziva from two years ago would never have been so forthcoming with her feelings. He still thinks he could have pulled her back from the darkness that had been in the process of swallowing her, but he knows her pride wouldn't have wanted him to do so.

Instead, she found her way here by herself.

"Just so you know, there is no way you're getting rid of me again," he says.

She puts her hand on his cheek, caressing her fingers across his stubble. "I know."

* * *

And now they're out of Tel Aviv!


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: The chapter in which they finally get the hell out of dodge. Also, you'll notice that the chapters will be longer from here on out.

* * *

Nine.

The train shudders to a stop. Ziva nimbly gets to her feet and opens the boxcar's door, allowing in a rush of salty smelling air. Tony is much slower to stand. His butt is numb, the knee that ended his basketball career is predictably sore, and he has the train equivalent of sea legs. Before she can jump off the train, however, he puts his hand on her arm and draws her to him.

"Hey," he says. Before she can move away, he kisses her. It is a brief, gentle kiss, and in it, a promise of more.

She smiles up at him, her eyes soft. "Come, we must get over to the airport to catch our flight," she murmurs. She jumps out of the train and offers him her hand, which he takes with no shame. He's getting old and he kind of resents it.

He comforts himself with the fact that his mind is as sharp as it has always been.

To his surprise and relief, he realizes the airport is a stone's throw away. He was anticipating a long walk. Instead, he can see the plane waiting on a runway. With their bags in hand, they walk briskly over. "Shalom," an IDF officer greets them. He and Ziva go back and forth in rapid fire Hebrew. Tony pretends to follow along. Finally, the officer nods and Ziva signals to Tony to follow her.

They step onto the plane and this is familiar territory to him. It looks like a standard military flight. They are surrounded by cargo but are able to find seats in which to strap themselves. "They will land at the military airport in Furbara, along the coast," Ziva debriefs him. "There is a train station near there. A normal one, not a freight train," she adds when she sees the look on his face.

"That's a relief. I'm not sure I can handle any more bumping around on my ass," he responds. He rubs his backside and winces to illustrate his point.

His show of discomfort makes her smile. "From there, we can go anywhere."

The airplane engines roar to life and she has to yell to be heard. "I suggest we try to get some rest now and we can come up with a plan once we land."

He gives her a thumbs up and a smile in response. His original mission was to save her, essentially, and now she is taking over. It is typical Ziva. He wonders how in the world he made it more than two years without her.

A week ago, he was sitting at the same desk he had sat at for years, thinking about his next career move. He was unsatisfied about the lack of a personal life as well but had given it up as a lost cause. He was also unsatisfied about the trajectory of his career but at least he could control that. If only he knew what he wanted to do.

But now with Ziva back in his life, he knows he will be fitting his career around his relationship with her. Although he isn't exactly experienced in the area of long term, serious commitments - at least when it comes to the personal - he knows once Jacob Scott is apprehended and the mission to keep Ziva safe is over, their relationship won't be so easy. He is thrilled it is going so well but he's enough of a realist to know that they still have a lot of things to work through.

He looks over at her. She has her eyes closed but he cannot tell if she is asleep or not. She could be snoring but over the engines, he'd have no way of knowing. He takes the moment to look her over. Her delicate features are the same, her hair untamed.

Before his eyes can continue their journey across her body, her eyes open and she looks straight at him, eyebrows slightly raised. He smiles at her warmly, letting his affection for her show. She smiles back at him, then closes her eyes again. He shifts in his seat, trying to find a position that doesn't piss off his body any more than it already is, and closes his eyes as well.

Before he can start drifting off to the soothing noise of roaring engines, a startling thought comes to him. She seems more at peace with everything, but is she really? She barely reacted to her father's house - her childhood home - burning down. She has been extremely busy with classes and doing research for Schmeil.

Has she just substituted NCIS with classes and exams and research papers, at the expense of finding herself?

He frowns to himself. He knows he should trust her to make her own decisions and find her way, and really, he does. And she seems more balanced, more at peace. But when the danger ends and they can stop running, what if she pulls away again? He is not sure he can handle losing her again.

His eyes close again, but he knows sleep won't come. He promises himself that he will not let her shut him out.

* * *

The flight over the Mediterranean is thankfully uneventful, and they land in Italy with no problems. As they wait to get off the plane, she hands him an ID and passport. He reads the name and cracks a grin. "Jean-Paul Ranier. Sweetcheeks, you just loved being them, didn't you?"

She smiles at him. "I had the documents created years ago for us, in case something happened. Mon petit pois," she adds teasingly.

The last time they had called each other by those nicknames was in Berlin. Right before they had gotten into a car accident and she had killed Bodnar. He wishes they didn't have so many memories that end with death or injury.

He shakes off the memory and focuses on what she just said. "You had them created years ago?"

"Yes." She shrugs. "How many times have we been in danger over the years? A friend owed me a favor and I figured it was best to be prepared."

"Did you just have IDs for you and me created? Or the whole team?" He asks this mostly out of curiosity. Mostly he is glad she had the foresight to plan ahead.

She looks at him out of the corner of her eye. "Just us. We were usually the ones who were in trouble, were we not?" He can't disagree.

"You would have been a great Boy Scout," he tells her. She smirks again at him.

The cargo door finally opens with a rush of fresh air. They step off the plane and onto the runway. "Ah, the motherland," Tony sighs, stretching his arms out. It has been years since he was last in Italy and even then, it was just for half a minute in Naples while they boarded a naval ship.

The person injured during that memory? Stan Burley. Tony doesn't feel overly bad about that, especially since he recovered.

Ziva and the same Israeli officer talk more in Hebrew. He hands her something small - a phone, Tony thinks, and she eventually says, "Todah," and heads back to Tony.

"The train is that way," she points, "and we have a burn phone courtesy of Orli Elbaz. She will inform us when Jacob Scott has been apprehended. She already sends a message that the man hired by Scott to fire upon my father's farmhouse has been taken care of."

He raises his eyebrows. "Mossad is nothing if not efficient," he says.

"Come on. We will have to walk about three miles north to get to a train station," Ziva says. "We can get something to eat in Santa Severa."

The thought of food makes Tony's stomach rumble and as he follows her lead, he asks, "How in the world do you know where we are?"

She shrugs, shifting her bag to her other hand. "I have been to this airport before. Plus, after high school, before the IDF, Ari and I went to Rome and backpacked along the coast a bit." Her voice hints at sadness at the mention of her half brother. Who she had to kill.

He needs to stop thinking of their past like this. As a cop and an agent, he had to learn how to compartmentalize death and injury, especially those caused by himself. If he continues with the body count at the end of every memory that comes over him, he will start feeling as guilty as Ziva had been feeling before he left her over two years ago.

"But that was years ago. How do you remember all this?" he presses this as they walk in the dust along the side of a road.

Another shrug from her. "Photographic memory, remember?" She still sounds melancholy.

"No. Because I don't have a photographic memory." He tries to crack a joke. She looks up at him and gives him a half smile for his effort.

They walk in silence as he tries to think of something appropriate to say. They walk past a few small farms. Unless a car is approaching them on the road and he drops back to walk single file behind her, they walk shoulder to shoulder.

They pass a wooded area - she explains that it is a nature preserve - then more farms, with hay bales dotting fields, a military installation of some sort. The sun is beginning to set, although he has a difficult time enjoying it with Jacob Scott after them and Ziva with such a faraway look in her eyes.

When he starts to feel that they have been walking forever, they approach a small town. "Santa Severa," she says, her first words in what he estimates to be a mile.

"And look, a place to eat," he points. Without checking to see if she is following him, he heads toward the flat roofed stucco building promising pizza. Maybe he can get through to her once they both have food in their stomachs.

He's Italian, or half so, anyway. Food solves all problems.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Thank goodness for Google Maps, Google Earth, and Wikipedia. I have never been to Italy.

* * *

Ten.

Eating improves her mood and Tony begins to feel a bit more human himself. "Hey, before we go to the train station, let's go down to the ocean," he suggests.

"Sea," she corrects automatically. He rolls his eyes at her but follows when she heads toward the coastline.

The sun is low in the sky beyond the water. He suddenly thinks about how this would be a perfect setting for a proposal. Sure, he proposed to a woman once and gotten his heart stomped on for his troubles, and he isn't looking to propose to Ziva any time soon. But there is no denying the romance.

"What is better than being in the most romantic country in the world?" he asks the water.

He can see her smirk out of the corner of his eye. "Perhaps not being hunted by a rogue intelligence agent?" she suggests. "And anyway, I thought France was the most romantic country."

The breeze blows her curls back and she closes her eyes, breathing in the tangy salt air. She looks relaxed again and he is relieved. Quiet, sad Ziva makes him nervous. Maybe because the last time he saw her like that, she sent him away from her and he wasn't sure he would ever see her again.

"Nah. They have the City of Love, sure, but as far as romantic countries go, it doesn't get better than Italy."

She chuckles in response. At the mention of Paris, he remembers their overnight trip there. That had been their first international trip after Somalia. The witness they had escorted had been delightfully optimistic. It was there that they had chastely shared a bed, his arms around her to keep nightmares at bay, and he had the revelation that they would be okay. That their relationship wasn't broken beyond repair after the lies and betrayals. That sometimes things can get patched up and be stronger than it was previously.

They will always have Paris.

* * *

He is thankful that Adam Eschel had the foresight to provide them with money so they did not have to risk withdrawing from their own bank accounts, which he is almost certain are being monitored, although at this point by whom is an open question.

They buy train tickets to Livorno. She is eager to get more distance between them and the military airport where they landed. "We can stay there for a few days if we want, then keep going north," she says, and he can't find any problems with that plan. He especially likes the idea of spending a few days somewhere. He feels like he has been traveling for days and could use a long sleep in a proper bed.

In the meantime, he will take the somewhat comfortable passenger seat next to Ziva. She is quiet again, looking out the window at the passing scenery. She intentionally chose a seat on the left side of the train so she can occasionally get glimpses of the Mediterranean Sea, tranquil and dark in the night sky.

She is thinking about summers in Haifa when she was a child. She and Tali, and sometimes Ari, would run along the beach, chasing waves on the other side of the same sea. Not a care in the world.

That isn't true. She worried a lot, about her father's job, which she knew to be very important but very dangerous, about her mother, who was cracking under the stress of Eli's obligations and what she later learned was a lengthy affair with Orli Elbaz. She kept these concerns to herself, wanting to shelter Tali, who was younger and much more sensitive. Although she had no one in which to confide these secrets, she did not feel lonely. Tali was her best friend.

Even with her parents' problems hanging over her head, she knows that she had a good childhood. Not like Tony, sitting next to her now, purportedly looking out the window but also watching her in a way he thinks is stealthy. He does not talk too much about his childhood, but what she does know could not have been easy - his mother's death, being shipped from boarding school to boarding school, with no real place to call home.

Life got more difficult for her as she got older, while it went in reverse for him. She supposes this means they are even, as if that matters. She knows now that it does not matter who has had more tragedies, more loves. Even though her childhood friend Dina Bashir believed otherwise and spat in her face for killing Ari years ago, she has found peace with the belief that nobody is keeping track.

Through her university studies and the sessions with a therapist recommended by Schmeil, she came to accept that yes, horrible things happened to her and she caused horrible things to happen to others. But that did not make her a bad person unworthy of love or kindness. Denying herself these things would not undo the past. If she wanted to atone, she could find a career that allowed her to do so - but denying herself any happiness would be an insult to those who died when they would have rather lived.

She had to _live_.

She had a plan. Graduate from university as quickly as possible, go to graduate school in the US. Even though she applied to programs in the UK, she always knew she would be going back to the US. She is a US citizen, after all. And she knew if she was in the US, it would have to be in DC, even if Tony did not accept her back into his life.

"You look thoughtful," he notes, interrupting her musings.

She turns and smiles at him. "I was thinking." She doesn't elaborate and he makes a face like he is about to question her further. But while she has found peace with herself, it is too new to share with anyone, even him, just yet. So she changes the topic. "Tell me about what is going on with you and Gibbs."

He stares at her, caught off guard by her question. "What makes you think there's something going on with me and Gibbs?"

"You said that you have no idea what project Gibbs is working on in his basement. This means you have not been there lately. And that means there is something going on. Someone is mad." Her ability to take a throwaway sentence and glean additional information from it is uncanny.

"No one is mad," he says, rubbing his forehead. "We had a talk a few months ago and I guess it gave me a lot to think about."

Her lips purse. "What kind of a talk?" It is clear she is not going to let up until he explains.

He sighs. "He asked me if I still want to be an agent."

At this, her eyebrows raise. Tony is a career cop. That is all he has done since he was in his early 20s. He was at a few different police departments before being recruited by Gibbs. He wouldn't go back to being a police detective - career-wise, it would be a step backward, especially for a veteran senior field agent. Part of the reason why she had sent him home more than two years ago was because of his love for his job. Even though he complained about the lack of sleep, the long hours, she knew how much he loved what he did. She would not get in the way of his career. She wonders what has changed, but she keeps silent, waiting for him to continue.

"And honestly, I don't know anymore. I thought I wanted to be team leader, but…" he trails off, not sure how to put the rest into words. He has sacrificed so much for his work and he was not necessarily happy about it, but he did it gladly because he thought it was worth it. But as the years ticked away, he became more and more aware that he was missing something. His buddies from college and Baltimore PD all have families. He has Senior, and that's it.

Of course, this has been the case for years and it hadn't given him this existential angst until recently. The catalyst was Ziva, who is watching him carefully, patiently waiting for him to continue. More specifically, her leaving. When the fog of sadness and anger had lifted, it had become clear to him that she had become his family, and not just part of his work family. And with her gone, he had nothing. When Senior dies, he will have nothing again. And that thought terrifies him.

"Maybe I've been doing this for too long. The whole senior field agent thing. I turned down Rota and now I'm not sure I want to be a team leader, which probably means I shouldn't be one." He sighs. "And Gibbs thinks he's wasted years mentoring me."

She shakes her head. "Gibbs does not think like that. He does not think you are a waste."

"Maybe not, but things are different between us. I question him more and you know how he is when people question him. I mean, before, I would have dragged you kicking and screaming back to DC. And now, here we are, actively not doing what Gibbs ordered." He raises his eyebrows and gives her a little sad smile.

She tilts her head, conceding his point. This rift between Tony and Gibbs worries her but she is not sure what she can do at the moment. "Would you like to talk about something else?" she offers.

"Oh god, yes," he says quickly. He knows he will have to deal with this thing with Gibbs, and with the question as to whether he still wants to be an agent. But not now. Right now, he is focused on the current mission. "How about us?"

"What about us?" she asks, blinking innocently.

He quirks a smile at her. "We won't be on the run forever. Once Scott is apprehended, what do we do?"

"Stop running, probably," she reasons.

His face is suddenly serious, and his eyes are dark as he looks steadily at her. "I meant everything I said before. You won't be able to push me away again. I'm done regretting not giving us a try."

Her eyes scan his face, takes in his earnest expression. They have been more honest with each other in the last two days than they were in eight years working together. She wants a relationship with him, but she still hesitates. "You know that my last two relationships ended with one dead and one in federal prison, yes?"

He makes a face at her. "Yeah, I remember. But we won't end, so it's a moot point."

"You sound so certain."

"That's because I am," he tells her. He takes her hand, kisses her knuckles gently. They both flash back to the olive grove more than two years ago.

 _I'm fighting for you._

He is fighting for her again, or maybe he never stopped, but this time, he will not lose.

She smiles at him, her eyes soft. "We won't know unless we try. But we need a plan."

"A plan? In case we don't make it? But we will," he says.

"No, a logistical plan. When Scott is apprehended, you will need to go back to DC and I will probably have to redo the semester for missing final exams." The thought makes her sigh. She has worked so hard and now one man has derailed her.

"Do you really think you'll have to redo the whole semester? Don't they have some exception for when you need to escape hit men?"

She shrugs. "I do not know. Professors do not list such exceptions in their syllabi."

"We'll figure something out. Maybe the Mossad director can write you an excuse note or something. So our plan. We'll get you graduated. You'll come back to DC and go to Georgetown. Then I'll figure out my next career move." He gives a short laugh. "It'll be easy."

She snorts at that. "Easy is not what I would call it." Then, soberly, she asks, "You really think we can do this?"

He gives her a gentle smile and squeezes the hand he is still holding. "Yes. No doubt in my mind."

* * *

A/N: Hi again. So this is where we'll end for now. Don't worry, chapter 11 is almost finished. The goal is to wrap this up in chapter 15.

As always, feedback greatly appreciated.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Again, thank goodness for Wikipedia and Google Maps.

Thanks to everyone for hanging in there.

* * *

Eleven.

Four hours and some change later, Livorno Centrale. They disembark from the train with a few other passengers, bags in hand. The station, filled with beautiful architecture, is eerily quiet at the late hour. Ziva leads the way, like she knows where she is going and Tony supposes she might. They step out of the station and breathe in the fresh air. He can smell salt in the air from the nearby sea.

"We should find a hotel for the night. If we go this way," she points, "we should be able to find one."

He yawns. "Okay," he replies, willing to let her take the lead. Her Italian is better than his, anyway.

As they walk along the empty sidewalk, passing stately buildings with glowing faces illuminated by streetlights, he reflects on the last two days. So much has happened in such a short period of time. Mostly, he thinks about how easy it has been, being back together with Ziva. It's as if the years apart have melted away and in its place is an understanding. He wonders why it is suddenly so easy to be honest with her when it was so difficult before. Maybe because they have nothing left to lose. This is his second chance, or maybe his third or fourth or fifth, and instinctively, he knows he will not get another.

Carpe diem, and all that.

They strike out at the first two hotels they come across but have better luck at the third. "One room left, queen bed," Ziva tells him on the elevator up to their room.

His only response is to yawn so deeply that his ears pop. It doesn't register to him that she mentioned one bed, not two, until she unlocks the hotel room door, revealing the one bed. "Oh," he says blankly. He is so tired that he had not been thinking of the logistics of sharing a hotel room.

"I can take the couch," she says as casually as she can manage, moving to drop her bag next to the couch, which looks marginally comfortable.

He gives her a look. "That's ridiculous," he responds. "We have shared a bed before." He almost mentions their conversations from earlier but knows that her hesitation has little to do with her actual feelings for him.

"I remember," she says softly. Paris. And her father's farmhouse. The air is suddenly charged with unspoken tension and she knows he is thinking of that last night as well, where they spent hours memorizing the taste of the other's skin.

"I promise to keep my hands to myself," he smirks, in an effort to break the tension. He slips his feet out of his shoes and plops down on the far side of the bed. He feels his back pop in at least five different places.

She hesitates for a long second, then goes into the bathroom, closing the door quietly. He closes his eyes, not sure what to make of her hesitation but too tired to try to make sense of it. He trusts that she will get into bed when she is ready.

In the small bathroom, she washes the day's travels off her face. She takes her time, wondering about her sudden apprehension at sharing a bed with Tony. It's ridiculous, really. They have already cleared the air of any uncertainties and possible misunderstandings. She meant it when she said that she wanted to be with him.

She wipes her face with a small white towel and looks at herself in the mirror. For her, actions have always spoken louder than words. Words are meant to be manipulated, have double meanings. Actions, on the other hand, always count for something. She has known for years that Tony loves her, and not because he ever told her. He showed it through his actions.

Sharing a bed will be the most intimate thing she has done with someone else in years - since she last shared a bed with him, really. She shakes her head at her reflection and folds the used towel. It is a good thing that he is so certain of them. Despite the therapy and newfound peace she has found regarding her past, she still worries about hurting him. They will need his steadfastness to break down the rest of the walls she spent a life creating and fortifying.

She emerges from the bathroom. His eyes are closed and she thinks he might be sleeping, but when she sits on the bed and swings her legs up, he opens his eyes. "Hey," he says in a hushed voice. And then he yawns again.

She smiles at him as she snuggles down under the covers then turns her back to him to lay on her side. A beat, then she feels him shifting until he is snuggled at her back and his arm is around her. She puts her arm on top of his, holding him close. "That's better," he mutters sleepily.

His breathing quickly slows down and levels out. She listens to his breathing, draws comfort from his arm heavy around her, and slowly drifts off to sleep.

* * *

He wakes to the sound of the room door opening and closing. The room is dark but he can see a sliver of sunlight coming from the gap in the heavy curtains. The spot where Ziva had been when he fell asleep is empty, but the sheets are rumpled and he figures she slept at least a little. She is standing at the tiny table, holding two coffees and a brown bag. "Good morning," she says, bringing him a coffee as he sits up.

"What time is it?" he asks, mentally shaking the cobwebs out of his head. He takes an experimental sip of his coffee and grimaces at the strength of it. She makes a face in apology and hands him the other coffee. He tries it - it has plenty of milk and sugar, just the way he likes it. He takes a longer sip, risking burning his throat, and feels the caffeine course pleasantly through his veins. She draws the curtains back from the window and the room floods with sunlight, temporarily blinding him.

"Ten thirty. I wanted to let you sleep as much as you wanted. You have done a lot of traveling in a short period of time." She takes a sip of the coffee she had accidentally given to him.

"Did you sleep?"

She smiles. "I woke up at eight and took a little walk around the city, got breakfast." She opens the brown bag and hands him a pastry. He bites into it without ascertaining what it is.

Around the mouthful of pastry, he asks, "What did I tell you about going out by yourself?"

Rolling her eyes, she responds, "I can handle myself."

"That's not the point, Zee-vah," he says, drawing out her name in the way he does when he is annoyed with her. "Someone is after you and I know you are a big girl, but I still worry. They just blew up your father's house, thinking you were there."

"I know," she sighs, and chews thoughtfully on a piece of another pastry. "If it helps, I do not believe I was tailed during my walk."

It is his turn to roll his eyes. "That's a comfort."

She narrows her eyes at him. "I am not an amateur. Have you forgotten?"

"Yeah yeah, you were a badass warrior princess. Were. Past tense. You're now a student, retired from being a ninja, remember?"

"One does not retire from being a ninja, Tony," she says, archly. She is teasing him now, dismissing his concern, and he knows it. Many things have changed, but it is clear that she is as independent as ever, and while he loves that quality in her, it also makes him nervous.

He sighs deeply and relents. "Okay, my little ninja. Just promise me you won't do anything reckless."

"I promise," she swears, then chuckles. He is as protective of her as ever and she finds it both endearing and a little irritating.

He pops the last of the pastry into his mouth and grabs the brown bag. It is empty and he frowns at it. She chuckles again. "It will be lunchtime soon and we can get a proper meal."

He cheers up momentarily at the thought before he frowns. "What if someone recognizes you and alerts Jacob Scott's lackeys?"

After a moment of thought, she replies, "I will wear a disguise. It will be very Mission Impossible."

"What?" He tries to think of why she is referencing that particular movie while also marveling at her making a movie reference in the first place. The iconic scene from that movie is of Tom Cruise hanging by a wire in a white room, unable to touch the walls or floor. He isn't sure why they would ever find themselves in that kind of a situation.

"The one where they have all the masks," she explains.

"Oh yeah. I think that was the second one. Where are we going to get you a mask like that?"

She smirks. "I was thinking more along the lines of a big floppy hat and sunglasses that cover half my face."

"Oh. Not as much fun, but I guess it'll work," he replies. "Let's go!" He stands, then looks down at his rumpled clothes. "Maybe after I change."

She cannot help but laugh, and the sound is music to his ears.

* * *

They eat lunch at a cafe near the beach. She is wearing sunglasses and a straw hat with a wide floppy brim that shades her entire face. She wrangled her hair into a low bun, and he has to admit that she looks like one of a number of women they've seen walking around the city. She insisted that he buy a pair of aviator shades and he allowed her to style his hair differently.

To the casual observer, they look like tourists enjoying a nice vacation by the sea.

After lunch, they walk along the seashore, holding hands and admiring the architecture, while covertly monitoring the people around them. Just a couple in love seeing the sights. He calls her Sophie and she calls him Jean-Paul. It feels like they are on a mission, something she hasn't done in a few years now.

Occasionally he stops and kisses her softly. This is Italy, after all. Public displays of affection are the norm, and he intends to make the most of it. She doesn't seem to mind too much.

They eat an early dinner at a restaurant with outdoor seating so she can avoid removing her hat and sunglasses. The day in the sun, spent entirely in her company, invigorates him and he is in rare form. He quotes more movies than she can count and generally acts like a rambunctious, albeit charming, labrador retriever. It has been a long time since he has been in this good of a mood, and he knows it has to do with her. And maybe being in Italy.

After the seriousness of the last day, she enjoys his energy. When she first started working as his partner, his antics annoyed her. A lot. She had been used to the no-nonsense demeanor drilled into her during her time with Mossad and the IDF, and she was convinced that his exuberance would cause them to make mistakes. Over the years, she learned that he was at his best when he was like that, and she came to enjoy that part of his personality, although she often wore a look of annoyance to keep from encouraging him.

They linger, ordering dessert and sipping espresso, watching the sun set over the glittering sea. His energetic mood has moved from being effusive to something she can't quite place. They sit mostly in companionable silence, but there is an underlying tension as the sun sinks lower in the sky. It is a tension that is familiar to her in his company. She can think of multiple times in their shared past when the air between them was so tight, she could have played it like a violin, but with a distraction, it dissipated, unresolved.

She looks out over the water and smiles at one memory that comes to the forefront of her mind. _Agent David, do you really consider me to be… in your life?_ They had been on the verge of something there, she is still sure of it, but Ray had chosen that moment to call and she had stepped back from the edge to answer it, back into safer territory. She gives a tiny sigh. If only.

Eventually, they leave the restaurant and head back to their hotel, walking slowly, hand in hand. She has not held hands with another person so much in years. For once, and only because it is him, the closeness is nice. He is uncharacteristically quiet, and she wants to ask him about it but the relaxed lines on his face tell her that it is nothing to be worried about.

She opens their room door with the key card and he follows her in. As soon as the door clicks shut behind them, he kisses her. It is not the brief, gentle kisses from earlier. This kiss is urgent, seeking. She responds automatically, one hand at the back of his neck, the other on his chest. Her hat falls to the floor and his hands release her hair from its knot as she nimbly unbuttons his shirt.

They undress each other, barely breaking the kiss, moving closer to the bed. She leans back from him slightly, just so she can look at him, take in his heavily lidded eyes and slightly flushed face. She gives him a coy smile, pushes him back onto the bed, then follows.

* * *

After, they lay together, temporarily sated, and she wonders how she ever survived the last few years without him.

He thinks about a conversation he had with Gibbs months ago, and how he has finally found where he belongs.

* * *

A/N: Feedback always appreciated! I just finished writing chapter 12, so I'll post it tomorrow after I edit it one or two more times. We are on track to wrap up with chapter 15.


	12. Chapter 12

Twelve.

He wakes up to Ziva kissing his shoulder. Her eyes crinkle when she sees that his eyes are open. "Hi," she says, leaning up to give him a light kiss on the lips.

"Buongiorno," he says, his voice husky with sleep, kissing the tip of her nose. This is how he wants to wake up every day. It's the first time he has woken to her still next to him in bed. She kisses him again with more urgency. It is clear even to his sleep-muddled mind how she wants to start the day and he certainly isn't going to protest.

* * *

"Wow," he says. She turns her head to look at him, her face still hazy from the intense high from which she was still coming down. "I can't remember the last time I had this much sex in a twelve hour period." They had taken turns waking each other up in increasingly creative ways throughout the night.

She smiles. "Is that a problem?"

He chuckles and kisses the tip of her nose again. "Not at all, Sweetcheeks. You'll never hear me complain, even if it does remind me how much older I am than you."

She crinkles her nose at the reference to their ten year age difference. "Will coffee make you feel better?"

"Coffee always makes me feel better. If you can stop attacking me with your lust long enough, we can go out and get some." His eyes twinkle at her and she narrows hers at him playfully.

"No, I'll go and you shower. You smell." She pats his stomach, then gets out of bed.

He is about to protest, remind her that someone wants her dead, when she adds, "I will have my disguise," and holds up her big hat. "I am only going two doors down and will be back very quickly."

He shakes his head at her but only says, "if you're not back by the time I'm out of the shower, I will panic. And you know what happens when I panic."

She dresses, nimbly wrangles her hair into a braid without looking in a mirror, and plops the hat on her head. "I will be back in a few minutes," she says, and walks out the door.

* * *

The water pressure in the shower isn't great but the shower refreshes him anyway. Part of him wishes he had dragged her into the shower with him, but he remembers that he isn't a twenty year old anymore and one more round in so short a time period might actually give him a heart attack.

Ten minutes later, invigorated, he steps out of the bathroom in his boxers. She is not back, but he figures it was a short shower and maybe there is a line at the cafe. As he pulls a shirt over his head, he hears a phone ring from inside Ziva's backpack. The burn phone. He quickly retrieves it from a small inside pocket and answers with a "hello."

"Is this Tony DiNozzo?" a woman's voice, accented and vaguely familiar, asks.

"Yes," he responds, slowly. "Who is this?"

"Orli Elbaz, Mossad Director," she says. "I am calling to let you know that Jacob Scott has been apprehended by your NCIS team. I thought you are not likely in contact with them. You and Ziva can come out of hiding." She then hangs up without another word.

He sighs, relieved. He had been trying to hide his concern for Ziva, with varied success. Now the danger is over and he wonders if he can convince her to stay here another few days, hike around Cinque Terra.

Fishing his cell phone out of his bag and turning it on, he wonders why she hasn't returned yet. He decides to give her until he speaks to his team to confirm Orli's news. He has a number of text messages and voicemails but he doesn't bother to check them yet. Instead, he dials McGee's number.

"Tony!" McGee's voice sounds relieved and tired.

"Mossad tells me you got Scott, McGoo. Can you confirm?"

"Yeah, we did, but-"

"Great job," Tony interrupts enthusiastically. "Is the boss man having fun with him in interrogation?"

"Yeah, he's been in there for a while, I'm in the observation room now. But there's something-"

"I think Ziva and I might stay here for an extra day or two before flying back to Tel Aviv. We haven't been here long and there's this restaurant we went past yesterday-"

"Tony!" Now McGee interrupts him. "I'm guessing you didn't get my texts or emails because your phone was turned off. But Abby got a hit on the guy who broke into Ziva's house. We can't find any connection between him and Scott, and Scott denies sending anyone into her house in Tel Aviv. He thought she was living in her dad's farmhouse, which is why he had it blown up." He talks fast, sounding rather agitated.

Tony blinks, processing the news that the break in is unrelated to Scott. Add that to the fact that Ziva still hasn't returned, and an icy feeling goes up his spine. "Shit," he says, "Ziva isn't back yet. I'll call you back, McGee."

He hangs up the phone, pulls on jeans, stuffs his feet into shoes without bothering with socks, grabs his gun, badge, and a room key, and dashes out the door.

* * *

An hour later, he is back in the hotel room, trying not to panic and failing somewhat. Although his Italian is rudimentary compared to Ziva's fluency, he was able to question the barista at the cafe Ziva was supposed to have gone to get coffee. The barista remembered her from yesterday but did not see her this morning. He had gone into every cafe and store in a two block radius and shown her picture. No one had seen her, although the hotel receptionist said that he saw her leave about an hour and a half prior.

It was as if she had stepped out of the hotel and disappeared.

He pulls out the laptop and gets back on the phone with McGee. "Tell me you have something, McGee," he says by way of greeting when someone picks up.

"Tony!" Abby's voice answers him. "Tim and I pinged your cell and figured out where you are. Anyway, we accessed surveillance from the hotel lobby. We got Ziva exiting the hotel lobby, but we couldn't find her on the ATM camera next door. Tim's finding out if there is a camera on the street near your hotel that we can tap into."

"I went to every cafe and store in a two block radius and no one has seen her." Tony rubs his forehead. "She was supposed to have gone to get coffee an hour and a half ago. She had on a wide rimmed hat in an effort to conceal her identity. We thought it worked yesterday. We didn't notice anyone tailing us."

He should never have let her go out by herself. In fact, they should have just stayed in their room and ignored the temptation to explore the city. What the hell was he thinking? He knew someone wanted her dead, and he let her go off on her own anyway. "Dammit, how stupid am I?" he growls in frustration.

"You are not stupid," Abby says firmly. "Hold on, McGee might have something."

As he taps his fingers on the table anxiously, he hears McGee's and Abby's muffled voices. "Guys, any day," he says, knowing neither of them could hear him.

After a long pause, someone finally picks the phone back up. "Tony, Livorno's CCTV surveillance isn't anywhere near as comprehensive as in London or even Rome but we got one traffic camera near you," McGee says, talking quickly. "I was able to see a woman in a big hat get pulled into that narrow alley next to the hotel around the time you said she went out. I couldn't see her face, but you said she was in a big hat and the height and build matches. I can't see the face of the person who grabbed her, just an arm in a black or dark colored sleeve. I also can't tell if there is another way out of there."

McGee pauses to take a breath and Tony is up and out the door in that moment. "Tell me about the man who was in her house," he demands as he heads for the stairs, not bothering to wait for an elevator.

His heart sinks at the information McGee gives him as he runs down the eight flights of stairs as quickly as he can. The man has ties to Hamas and is wanted in Israel for various crimes but has somehow eluded capture, despite seeming to operate in the country's capital. Considering everything Ziva did for Mossad over the years, plus the fact that she is a former director's one remaining child, known to have killed at least one Hamas operative, it is not surprising she would still be a target to Israel's enemies. McGee posits that Hamas decided to act now in the hope that their actions would fly under the radar with so many intelligence agencies tracking Jacob Scott, and Tony thinks he is right.

He bursts out of the hotel and sprints into the alley that separates the hotel from the building next door. It is empty, save for a solitary item on the ground in the shadows. As he goes closer to it, he sees that it is a wide brimmed straw hat that looks very similar to the one Ziva had purchased. He swears loudly, and tells McGee about the hat. "The alley is too narrow for a car but it goes straight through to the next block. Can you see if there is a camera on the other side?" He takes a deep breath, trying to keep the wild panic at bay.

"Hold on," McGee says, and he hears rapid typing in the background and Abby occasionally making a comment. A minute later, he says, "No go. Screw Rule 22. I'm pulling Gibbs out of interrogation. We'll call you back."

Tony closes his eyes briefly, trying to think of what to do next. Ziva couldn't have actually vanished into thin air in the alley. It is possible that she was shoved into a car waiting on the adjacent street, in which case, she could be anywhere. Or she could be in a nearby building. He sighs and looks around the surprisingly clean alley. He needs his team, but he can't wait for them to get on a plane and fly here.

His phone trills, breaking through the waves of panic creeping up over him. "DiNozzo!" Gibbs barks at him. "What've you got?"

"Just the CCTV footage that McGee and Abby found and her hat in the alley," he says, unable to stop the whine of anxiety in his voice.

"She didn't just disappear, DiNozzo. _Think_. We have dealt with Hamas wanting Ziva in the past. What happened in those cases?" Gibbs' sharp tone of voice is strangely comforting.

In the background on Gibbs' end, he hears Bishop say, "I'm calling a contact with AISE to see if we can get some interagency cooperation."

Tony closes his eyes again and concentrates. "I'm going to alert local police and see if I can get them to help with searching the nearby buildings. My guess is that they are holding her somewhere nearby. Have McGee run searches to see if any building owners or managers have connections to Hamas."

"Already being done, DiNozzo. We'll call when we have something." With that, Gibbs hangs up, leaving Tony to head toward the police station he remembers passing yesterday.

* * *

A/N: Kind of an awkward end to the chapter, but if I didn't end now, the chapter would be too long.

I actually have no idea how extensive Livorno's CCTV coverage is and the internets failed me when I was researching. If anyone actually knows, let me know and I'll fix it in the story. I am an editor IRL and I really like facts (as much as reality has a place in fanfic).


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: We'll just plow right ahead. On a more personal note, I'm not sure if I have thanked everyone for the comments and follows yet. If so, I apologize! I really appreciate it. This is the longest non-academic thing I've written in a very long time and I am coming off a 10 year fanfic writing hiatus.

Also, I don't think I've posted a disclaimer yet. Obviously, the characters are not mine. I am just borrowing them.

* * *

Thirteen.

With a heavy sigh, Tony sits on the stairs leading up to the second floor of the third building near the hotel that he has searched with the help of a few local police officers. His bad knee is sore from going up and down so many flights of stairs, his head hurts, and he can't remember if he ate today.

None of this matters. He still hasn't found Ziva.

He isn't sure if maybe his Italian isn't getting the point across, but the Italians do not seem overly concerned. He catches snippets of the conversation between the officers and understands some of it. They think he and Ziva had a lovers' quarrel, and she left. Despite being in a port city in a country allied with the US, the officers are not familiar with NCIS and were skeptical of him until the police chief came in and thankfully had heard of the agency. The chief had started to question what an NCIS officer was doing in his jurisdiction and Tony thought he was going to lose whatever cool he had left.

Finally, he had been able to explain that the missing woman is also an NCIS agent and may have been taken by foreign terrorists. That seemed to have gotten some attention at least, though clearly the officers assigned to help him search did not believe it.

In the moment, it hadn't occurred to him that he had lied about Ziva being an active NCIS agent. He doesn't really care to correct himself.

Bishop couldn't get in touch with her AISE contact. McGee wasn't able to find a connection between any known Hamas member and the buildings near the hotel. Gibbs kept telling him to think, use his brain. Tony isn't sure if it is an attempt at a Yoda moment, where he knows the answer but wants Tony to come up with it himself, or if Gibbs is just as lost as he is.

The second option is disconcerting, to say the least.

He can't believe he let her slip through his fingers again. He had sworn that he wasn't going to lose her again. She got kidnapped multiple times when she was with NCIS and each time, he or Gibbs was able to find her. It can't be any different this time around.

He won't let himself think of the possibility that she is already dead.

After a moment, he runs his hands through his hair and stands up. He gestures to the three Italian police officers, whose names he hasn't bothered to learn, and they head out of the building. The next building is on the other side of the alley, facing the next street. He sees that it has only a few floors and is thankful. It shouldn't take long to go through it.

* * *

An hour later, he and his Italian posse exit the building, all visibly frustrated. Nothing. No sign of her. No one has seen her and nobody has seen anything suspicious. The police officers are grumbling more loudly now, starting to call into doubt his sanity. He briefly wonders if maybe he has gone crazy, that Ziva died when the mortar fire hit her father's old house and he has been hallucinating her the whole time.

Then he wonders if he really has gone crazy for thinking such a thing.

The sun is getting low in the sky as he stares at the entrance to the next building over, which houses on the first floor a trinket shop that looks like a tourist trap. His phone rings. McGee. "McGee, what've you got for me?" he says by way of greeting.

"Gibbs and I are headed for the next available flight to Pisa. We're on our way to the airport and will land around 0400 local time, then we'll rent a car and drive out to Livorno. Bishop's still looking through the backgrounds of the people who rent and own those buildings, but she's got nothing so far," McGee relays, sounding as exhausted as Tony feels.

Tony is about to respond when he hears a few pops that sound suspiciously like gunshots. The police officers perk up. He hangs up the phone as McGee begins to ask, "Was that-" and runs toward the sound, following the police officers.

They run to the building directly behind the hotel, which was the second one they had checked hours ago now. It has offices on the lower floors and a few apartments above. Tony draws his gun as he approaches, as do the police officers. They cautiously approach the front door, two on either side. Tony takes the lead and enters first.

It is quiet in the building. The office workers have all gone home by now and the apartment dwellers do not come down to investigate. The gunshots had come from low in the building, maybe the garden level, where there are two offices. When they had come through earlier, the workers had been polite but clearly not happy to be bothered, which was not an uncommon reaction.

They head down the stairs carefully. He can't hear anything, no sound of a scuffle, no further gunshots. He tries the first door he comes across. It is locked. He gestures to one of the police officers, who is young and burly. The officer slams into the cheap door with a hefty shoulder and it bursts open.

Inside, two men lay on the ground, both bleeding from gunshot wounds. One of them does not move but the other begins shouting in Italian. He gestures madly toward the windows. One is broken, and Tony can see glass on the ground beyond, along with a thin trail of blood. He tells the police officers, who begin tending to the two men and speaking into radios, that he is going to look for a possible shooter outside, and the officer who broke open the door follows him out.

The office window faces the alley, so the two of them run into the narrow space. The alley is dark, the sun in the process of setting behind the buildings. With the little light from the streetlights on the other end of the alley, Tony can make out a slight, limping figure.

"Fermo!" he yells at the person. The person drops two guns and hold up their hands. As the unknown person turns around, he almost collapses when the familiar voice calls out, "Tony?" and then slumps down in the middle of the alley.

"Ziva!" he cries, holstering in his gun and running. She is sitting, legs splayed out in front of her, and his heart almost stops when he reaches her. There is a small trickle of blood from her nose, her arms have cuts all over them, and even in the dim light, he can see a large bruise that covers an eye and cheek.

Her eyes, however, are open, and she blinks at him as he crouches over her. "Zee?" he says tentatively, reaching down to gently stroke her unbruised cheek.

"I told you, Tony. One does not retire from being a ninja." She gives him a lopsided smile.

The burly police officer catches up to them and barks orders into his radio for ambulances, back up, and the other officers to arrest the men in the office. Tony nods at him in thanks, then turns to inspect Ziva more closely. Her nose is still bleeding and he cannot rule out that it may be broken. There is a dark circle already forming around her left eye but nothing looks broken there. He turns his attention to her arms. Most of the cuts look superficial, but he sees a small round burn on one arm and his jaw clenches. "Is that…?" he trails off, as anger begins to curling in his stomach.

"Cigarette burn, yes," she says as matter-of-factly as she can muster through her exhaustion. "A common interrogation method in some parts of the world. There are more on my back."

He closes his eyes and swallows back the urge to go down to the office and smack around the men who held her. "We got two guys. Were there more?" he asks.

"Yes, but they disappeared a few hours ago. I think the two you got were my babysitters for the evening. They were clearly inexperienced. They had me tied to a chair in the room, but not tight enough. I was able to get out and grab their guns. I broke the window to escape."

They lapse into silence as they wait for the ambulances and back up support. The burly police officer had gone back into the building. "I was in the supply closet when you searched the office. I wanted to call out but one of the men had a gun to my head to keep me quiet," she says, leaning against him and closing her eyes.

"What did they want with you?" he asks, although he can think of a dozen reasons on his own.

She sighs. "They had not gotten around to asking too many questions. They made me confirm that I was the one who killed Ari. And that it was on my father's orders."

She does not say that once again, she was made to suffer for her past and for her father's sins, but it weighs heavily in the air between them. No matter how much she atones, no matter what good she has done in the world, no matter that she walked away from that life and estranged herself from the people who loved her, it will never be enough for some people. She has accepted that atonement will undo neither her actions nor those of her father, nor will it bring back anyone for whom someone will always mourn. She may have let go of revenge but she had not taken into account the many others for whom revenge is still a way of life, and whose actions she cannot change.

And it is a fact with which she has to live.

* * *

He rides with her in the ambulance to the hospital, loathe to let her out of his sight. She wants to tell him that it is okay, that he can relax and step out to get a coffee at least, but she also knows being near her is what he needs more than anything, so she keeps her mouth shut. They hold hands, and neither is sure if it more for her benefit or his.

A doctor checks her over, confirms a broken nose. No other breaks, although her ribs and half of her face is severely contused. The cuts are superficial and do not need stitches. She is given cream to put on the burns, which dot her back in sickening red polka dots.

Tony stands outside the room while the doctor is in with her, leaning against the wall, telling himself over and over that she is okay in an effort to keep the guilt at bay. If he is serious about being with her, and he is, then he needs to accept that she is independent and will do what she wants in the end. She doesn't need him to save her. Even today - although he looks up at a clock and realizes it is now tomorrow - she escaped on her own. His role in her life isn't to be her savior, it is to be the rock. The person who will always be there for her.

Her constant.

He thinks, _I can do that._


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: Without further ado, I present to you the last two chapters of this little tale.

* * *

Fourteen.

The doctor tells her that he cannot rule out a possible concussion and insists that she stay in the hospital overnight for observation. Tony concurs, and Ziva rages a little but does not sign herself out against medical advice. She also does not refuse the painkillers that are offered to her.

She thinks it's a sign that she has gone soft but she shrugs to herself. Nobody cares if she has gone soft. It took a long time, but she has learned that soft is not a weakness.

The young burly police officer, whose name is Moretti, brings Tony a cup of coffee. As it turns out, he speaks English quite well, and he is able to update Tony and Ziva on the questioning of the two suspects who were shot by Ziva.

"They are both alive and cooperating somewhat. They are brothers, Italian citizens, recent recruits to Hamas. We are working with our antiterrorist unit to get more information," Moretti tells them. "I believe AISE is coordinating with your agency as well. There are a lot of people looking for more information regarding the men who kidnapped you, Agent David. In the meantime, we will provide protection until you can safely leave the country. There is an officer stationed outside your room. If you need to contact me, the officer will be able to help you."

She raises her eyebrows. "I am no longer an NCIS agent, but thank you for the information."

If Moretti is surprised by this, he does not let it show. "Grazie," Tony adds. The younger man nods at them both and steps out of Ziva's room.

Tony blinks and suddenly remembers. "Gibbs and McGee are on their way here," he says. He checks the clock. "They should be landing in Pisa in a few hours, and then it'll be another half an hour or so until they're here. McGee will get my text that we found you when they land. I let Abby and Bishop know, too."

Staring down at the stark white sheets on her fairly uncomfortable hospital bed, she nods. He sits in a chair next to the bed, sipping the coffee Moretti brought him. It is strong but he hardly notices. "I am sorry, Tony," she says softly.

He looks at her. "For getting kidnapped?" he asks, confused.

She shrugs. "Yes, and for not being more careful. You tried to warn me. I did not listen."

"This isn't your fault," he tells her, looking into her eyes to get his point across. "We both should have been more careful."

"This isn't your fault," she echoes his words, knowing how he carries guilt on his shoulders like the Greek god Atlas.

He takes her hand and laces their fingers together. "I was pretty scared," he admits.

She bites her lower lip and looks away briefly. He thinks he might see tears in her eyes, but it might also be a trick of the light. "Me, too," she says softly. Then she gives him a lopsided smile. "I knew you would find me."

"I always do, Sweetcheeks. But I think you saved yourself here." He squeezes her hand.

She nods. The painkillers are working their magic and she slowly drifts off to a dreamless sleep, still holding his hand.

* * *

He wakes to the sound of footsteps nearby and opens an eye to see if it is a nurse. Gibbs and McGee stand just inside the room. Tony imagines they are taking in the scene before them, with Ziva sleeping in the hospital bed, her hand still in his, and him awkwardly slouched in the chair.

"Hey guys," Tony says, lifting a hand but not standing up, mostly because he is unable to move from sleeping in a chair and also because he does not want to let go of her hand. He had thought about climbing into the bed with Ziva but figured nurses would be in and out of the room monitoring her and he should stay relatively out of the way.

"She okay?" Gibbs asks softly, watching Ziva sleep.

"Broken nose, bruised ribs and face, and various cuts and burns, but otherwise fine. They don't think she has a concussion, although they clearly hit her head pretty hard," Tony replies, listing her injuries.

"My head is pretty hard," Ziva says, opening her eyes. "Hello Gibbs, McGee."

McGee goes over and takes her other hand. "Hi Ziva. We were pretty worried."

"I am okay," she responds. "I still cannot believe someone got the leap on me."

"Jump," Tony corrects automatically. "But yeah, maybe your stealth detection skills are a little rusty. You haven't really needed them."

Just then, a nurse bustles into the room and sees Ziva's two new visitors. In Italian, she chides them all. Ziva translates. "The nurse would like you to leave so they can examine me to see if I can be discharged."

McGee smiles at her and steps back. "We'll wait outside," he says.

Gibbs leans over and kisses the top of her head. "Good to see you, Ziver."

"Want me to stay?" Tony asks.

"No, it will be fine. Go get breakfast," she tells him. He kisses her good cheek and steps out of the room.

* * *

"Sorry you guys came all the way out here," Tony says, yawning before taking a big bite out of a pastry. If they stay in Italy much longer, he is going to weigh 400 pounds.

"Rule six, DiNozzo. Never apologize," Gibbs admonishes, taking a swig of coffee. "If you hadn't found her by now, you would have needed us."

Tony shrugs. "That's the thing. We didn't find her. She escaped and we happened to stumble upon her."

"Ziva can take care of herself. We always knew that," McGee responds. "So that shouldn't be too surprising."

"Well, no, it's not surprising. But I'm worried about her." Tony pauses to collect his thoughts. "I think she really did find the peace she was looking for and I'm worried that this will set her back. She's been living a pretty normal life and none of this has been normal."

Gibbs says, simply, "If she really found her peace, she'll bounce back."

As always, Gibbs knows what to say and says it in the least number of words necessary.

* * *

She is discharged from the hospital that morning. Tony brings her fresh clothing from their hotel room, and as she steps into the fresh air, flanked by Tony, Gibbs, and McGee, she blinks in the sunlight. She hates hospitals, no matter what country the hospital is in, with their universal smell of imminent death. They remind her of a time when she thought Tony was dying, and of Michael Rivkin, and of Lieutenant Roy Sanders, and countless times her NCIS team members were injured. Even an overnight stay is too long.

They stand at the front of the hospital, all unsure where to go next. "What's the plan?" Tony asks.

"McGee and I are on the next flight back to DC that Travel can get for us. Vance wants us back. We were in the middle of another case and we don't have jurisdiction," Gibbs responds. McGee's face falls almost imperceptibly at this, and Tony can tell he was hoping they could stay for a day before making the long flight back. "You coming with us, Tony?"

He hesitates, looking at Ziva. "You're going back to Israel, right?"

She nods, confirming. "I need to talk to my professors about final exams and figure out if I can graduate or not. Then I will need to close up my house and pack some things."

"You're moving? Back to the US?" McGee asks her.

"Yes," she says, glancing briefly at Tony and smiling. The look is not lost on the tech-savvy younger agent and he grins broadly at her.

"Abby will be thrilled," McGee says, excited. "And Gibbs, though he'll never admit it."

This earns him a head slap. "I'm right here, McGee. And I'm glad you're coming back, Ziver," Gibbs says, giving her a rare smile. "I need your help keeping the knuckleheads under control."

"You're not coming back to NCIS, are you?" McGee asks.

She shakes her head. "No. I will be attending graduate school at Georgetown." She does not elaborate on her chosen next career, figuring she will avoid a head slap of her own until absolutely necessary.

"I'll go back to Israel with you," Tony says casually, avoiding eye contact with Gibbs. "After all, some of the guys who kidnapped you are still out there. You need protection."

He can feel Gibbs' eyes drilling holes into him. After a long pause during which Tony mentally crosses his fingers and braces for a head slap, Gibbs responds. "You get a week. Anything longer and you gotta take vacation time."

That sounds perfectly reasonable to Tony.

* * *

They are greeted by Orli Elbaz as soon as they land in Tel Aviv. "It is not safe for you to return to your house, Ziva," she says as they travel through the airport, flanked by her protection detail. "You will stay in a hotel until you are ready to leave Israel. I spoke with Director Vance, who relayed your intention to move back to the United States. I think that is a prudent move. As you are well aware, you are a target even as a private citizen and it is better if you are further away from your father's enemies."

"My things?" Ziva asks, otherwise unruffled by the barrage of information from the older woman.

"They were packed up by officers and are being stored in a secured location. We will send them when you have an address in the US." Ziva nods in satisfaction at this. Tony supposes she is used to others packing up her things and moving to a new country on short notice.

Orli guides them into a car, driven by another officer. "In addition, I spoke with the university and I think you will find your professors are willing to allow you to take examinations late and, provided you pass, you will be able to graduate."

Ziva sighs a breath of relief at this news, leaning her head back against her seat. On the one hand, she hates using her father's connections, but on the other, she has to live with the enemies he left, so why shouldn't she benefit from him as well?

Tony remains quiet during the conversation, choosing to just watch his former partner's reactions. She seems more comfortable around the woman she once admitted to hating and wonders if, in the last few years, they had been able to set aside any grudges they may have held. In fact, she seems remarkably calm for someone who had been kidnapped 48 hours ago. With the exception of the terror she experienced in Somalia, she had always been able to quickly put up a facade of being okay, although he could always see past it.

Either she has gotten better at pretending to be okay or she really was fine. He couldn't decide which concerns him more.

* * *

Later that night, in the hotel room to which Orli brought them, he sees the facade crack. They are relaxing in bed, tv turned to a movie that Tony has of course seen before. As usual, he occasionally spouts off a random factoid that only he would bother to remember.

In the middle of one of his monologues concerning the difficulty of filming in that particular location, he glances over at her and is startled to see tears sliding down her cheeks. "Sweetcheeks?" he asks tentatively.

She wipes her cheeks with the palms of her hands and looks at him. The sadness in her dark eyes makes him want to gather her up in his arms and hold her, but he isn't sure that is what she needs. Instead, he takes hold of one of her hands and squeezes it, trying to convey in that one touch that he is there for her and will keep her from drifting away in a sea of sadness.

"It never ends," she says quietly after a few minutes. He looks questioningly at her but doesn't say anything. After a moment, she continues. "There is always another monster. Even when I stopped going after them, they still come for me."

 _There is always another monster._

He remembers when she said that in the elevator after Mike Franks died, killed by Jonas Cobb. He has reassured her then that they would get Cobb. They did get him but now he sees that he had missed the point. They got Cobb. Then they got Harper Dearing. Then Benham Parsa. And so on and so on. For so many years, they were embroiled in a grotesque parade of people who wanted them dead.

And then she left her life, left everyone she cared about, sacrificed the happiness she had found to build a new life with less death, and maybe she got a couple of years of reprieve, but the monsters keep coming. He thinks it is mostly because of the legacy left by her father. When her father died, his enemies became her enemies, even if she tried to make it otherwise. Maybe some of the monsters are of her creation, from her time with Mossad. He doesn't know a lot of what she had done and he may never know. It doesn't matter to him.

It all culminates into a burden she will likely have to carry for a long time, if not the rest of her life.

"I know," he says, unwilling to spout off empty platitudes.

She takes a deep, shuddering breath. "I know that all we can do is keep moving forward. But it is difficult."

This may be the first time he has heard her admit that something is tough for her. And right then, he stops worrying whether the peace she claims to have found is real. He knows it is.


	15. Chapter 15

See end for more author's note.

* * *

Fifteen.

At first, she thought being back in the US would bring up unpleasant memories. Her father's death, the revenge she enacted on Ilan Bodnar, all the things she had sworn she would leave behind.

Instead, she finds herself feeling truly at home for the first time in almost three years. Even though Israel is where she grew up, being back there had left her with a feeling that she was missing something. She found her peace but it was incomplete.

Now she understands. Israel is her past. The US is her future. She had to come back here in order to finish the healing process.

Of course, it helps that Tony is by her side. He thinks of himself as the wild card, but she knows that he is the anchor. He keeps her from going adrift when she has a nightmare or when the occasional melancholy mood hits her like a ton of bricks and she relapses into her former frame of mind, the one that holds herself responsible for so much suffering and tells her the only path to redemption is to deny herself happiness.

He instinctively knows how to navigate her past the stormy seas back into calmer water, and he does it every time with patience and tenderness she once thought him incapable of. He is her constant.

They live together in his apartment. It was really almost too big for him alone and is almost too small for the two of them, but the mortgage is almost paid off and they don't mind the close quarters. Despite it being technically his, he never makes her feel like it is anything but _their_ home.

The first thing they did when she first moved in was buy a queen sized bed. She understood what a big deal this was for him and was patient as he tried out every mattress in the store. She wanted to roll her eyes at him as he would sit on a mattress and then immediately stand up and say, "nope," but she refrained. After a dozen or so mattresses, he found the right one, just the right amount of firm and pillow topped. He instructed her to try it out and she had to agree, it was perfect.

They spent the night after it was delivered breaking it in.

A couple of months later, Orli sends word through Director Vance that Mossad has taken care of the men who had kidnapped Ziva. Tony contemplates at first whether he should tell her, but Director Vance preempts that by calling her himself. She tells Tony that she knows and they discuss it no further. There is nothing left to say and they move on.

They fall into a routine once the summer ends and she begins graduate classes at Georgetown, depending on the case on which Tony is working. She wakes with him, makes coffee as he gets ready for the day, then goes for her daily run after he leaves. Her first class is at 10:00, and she spends the rest of the day in class and in her internship with an international aid organization. When she returns home, she texts him to see if he will be home in time for dinner, then settles in to study.

If the MCRT is working a big case, she will sometimes deliver dinner to them. She usually sticks around to eat with them. It is strange at first, being in the bullpen that was her home for so long. Ellie Bishop has taken over her former desk and Ziva finds that she doesn't feel territorial over it in the least. It is in good hands with Bishop, who is almost in awe of Ziva, having heard numerous stories over the years from both her teammates and other employees. Ziva will sit on Tony's desk, participating in the banter, relishing her new role as guest and a team member's significant other.

Even if she is not officially a team member, she is still part of the family.

At first, Tony is unwilling to share case details with her. When she presses him, he tells her that he is worried about pulling her back in to her old life. She smiles tenderly at him and tells him not to worry about it. He starts occasionally sharing information with her, looking for her input when the team has hit a dead end or using her as a sounding board when he is coming up with theories. She helps as much as she can, and enjoys doing so.

When Gibbs hears that she is in graduate school for counseling psychology, he slaps the back of her head and warns her not to psychoanalyze him. She cheekily responds that she does not have that kind of time.

Ducky is delighted and is a willing participant in the "psychobabble," as Gibbs calls it.

She shares stories with Tony, from her classes and internship. Talking about the women she works with, she gets riled up and indignant about the abuses they have suffered, and he falls even further in love with her.

With her back in his life, in a different but more important role, Tony decides to stay on as senior field agent on Gibbs' team. He again feels the sense of belonging he had lost when she left and attacks his work with a newfound energy. He still questions Gibbs, but although the older agent would never admit it, the second guessing makes the team stronger.

He still thinks about his next career move. She considers obtaining a doctorate after her master's degree, and they agree that he will reevaluate how he feels about his job then.

It is Ducky who notes how Tony excels at mentoring Bishop, and wonders, in that way he has, whether he has considered teaching at the Federal Law Enforcement Training Center in Quantico. At first, they laugh at the idea of Tony teaching, but quickly realize that it may be perfect. The idea percolates in his head.

After a year, he brings up the idea of marriage. He had been thinking about it ever since he knocked on the door to her house in Tel Aviv, but knew he had to give her time. They have a long discussion about it and she leans toward no, that they do not need formalities to know that they will be together for the rest of their lives. He is inclined to agree but has one argument to the contrary, which is what compelled him to finally bring it up in the first place. Should something happen to him and they are unmarried, she would not be entitled to benefits that she otherwise would be if they were married. She narrows her eyes and threatens to kill him if he dies in the line of duty and says that she does not care about those benefits. But he does, and he wants to be able to provide at least a little for her in the event of his untimely passing.

It is this argument that convinces her. She is not sure when, but at some point, she had learned to let him be the rock, that he knows she can take care of herself and it is not a weakness to lean on him.

Because he is not Jewish, they cannot have a Jewish ceremony. He offers to convert but she finds that she does not care about having a Jewish ceremony, ketubah aside. Neither of them care to have a large, fancy wedding, especially since they do not have many family members. Her aunts in Israel, who are all that remain of her blood family, throw a fit when they hear, but Ziva stands her ground and they relent.

They get married at city hall on a crisp fall day and have a reception at Gibbs' after. Her aunts fly in for the event, and her widowed aunt takes a shining to Ducky, which the rest of the team finds highly amusing. Tony finally meets Aunt Nettie, who he yelled at on the phone all those years ago. He turns the charm up to 11, making McGee roll his eyes, but it is unnecessary. Aunt Nettie adores her niece's goy husband.

Of course, they are confronted with the question that almost every newlywed couple is asked. They had tentatively discussed it but with no definitive resolution, so they respond with a vague, "We'll see." Palmer offers to share tips on conceiving and they excuse themselves quickly and laugh about it at length when they are alone.

She convinces him to adopt a dog, and they go to the shelter to pick one out together. They settle on a mutt with two different colored eyes and uncertain bloodlines. She nervously agrees to let him pick its new name, and after much deliberation and a few trials, he decides on Humphrey Bogart, Bogie for short.

They weave together a life, one that is filled more with laughter and happiness and less with anger and shadows. He is the anchor and she is the sea, and they are the other's rock, withstanding all the highs and lows that come their way.

* * *

 _I know our time will pass, your love it will last_

 _Darling, we will never break._

* * *

END.

* * *

A/N: Thank you all for reading! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. All the feedback means so much to me. I definitely have more ideas in my head and I will keep writing fic as long as the ideas keep coming.

I am absolutely, positively convinced that Tony teaching at the FLETC is his next career move, once he's done finding his answers in Israel and Paris. He can use his knowledge while keeping regular hours to take care of Tali, plus he won't be in the line of fire daily. Plus, you know his ego would LOVE that. Don't be surprised if this is what he does in my future fics.


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